Trust Me Still
by EstelWolfe
Summary: Jack returns to Port Royal again only to find himself on a mission to rescue one of his closest friends. This is a sequel to 'A Taste of Misery'.
1. Chapter 1: Unhappy Homecomings

Disclaimer:  The two things I own in my life are my instrument and my body, both of which are slowing killing me (rubs legs where still sore from 'toes up!' all day) . . .

AN:  God, I should be sleeping now, but I can't . . .I go to bed and stare at the ceiling seeing the first part of this fic play over and over again on it, which is about the only part that is firmly established . . .this stuff is addictive . . .Back in action without even a day's rest . . .Okay, this takes place (drags cat off keyboard and deletes extra characters) about 5 years after 'A Taste of Misery', my first fic.  Reading that would be kind, but I don't think it'll be absolutely imperative . . .I tend to drag in the most important lines . . .

AN2:  Updates will honestly be longer in coming for this story because while I know a bit about colonial life and medical stuff, I really don't know anything about ships except that they float on top of the water, they have a captain who's in command, and Jack has one called the _Pearl_.  As I see part of this happening on the _Pearl_, I'll need to research a bit and get at least a semi-working knowledge of 18th century vessels . . .

AN3:  If people would be very kind and tell me how long it's supposed to take to go from Port Royal to Tortuga it would also be appreciated . . .and if anyone knows what kind of ship the _Pearl_ is that would also be very helpful . . .

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 1**

Jack slowly paced through the debris, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he took in what had once been homes . . .families . . .lives . . .worlds.  He had heard tales of similar destruction, but he had never believed they could be true, never believed anyone capable of repeatedly doing this . . .

He turned away, his face a careful mask of calm as he proceeded, silently and deliberately now, towards his destination.  He felt his lip twitch in a sneer at his own thoughts.

A man who had fought undead pirates for his ship, an assassin for his life, and his own demons for his sanity was questioning that there was enough darkness in men to commit atrocities like this.  Compared to what had happened in Port Jade this was nearly tame . . .

But Jade had been a one-time hit on a small port, while this was the next link in a chain that was steadily growing longer.

"Captain . . .what do you expect to find?"  Jack eyed Ana-Maria slowly and shook his head.  She called him Captain in front of the crew, more because he insisted than because she wanted to.  If she was calling him Captain now, when no one was around, then she was either frightened or horrified or worried for his sanity . . .or perhaps some combination of all three.

"I don't know, love.  I don't even want to hope . . ."

The female pirate nodded silently, her lips compressed into a thin line.

Hope flared against all his wishes as he came within sight of the small house, still standing and relatively unscathed.  He reminded himself fixedly that an intact house did not mean an intact home.

Jack had kept his promise and returned to Port Royal whenever the chance arose, sending notes through whatever channels he felt were safe when he couldn't visit.

He had been away for eight months now, and once again it wasn't the homecoming that he had imagined.

He pushed open the front door, an eerie sense of déjà vu rising as he remembered all the previous times he had been there.

The first thing that caught his eye was the lock, well oiled and completely undamaged.

_William Turner, you need to be more careful.  I know this house is defensible, considering I helped build it, but the locks don't work if ye don't set them._

A quick glance at Ana-Maria told the pirate that she was thinking the same thing.

Despite all of Jack's best efforts, the lad had never succumbed to paranoia, and it might very well have cost him his life.

Stepping into the room, he saw the decapitated body lying in the middle of the floor, and his heart froze for a moment.

Then he shook himself, realizing that it couldn't be who he had believed it was.  

The man was too tall and too bulky to be the blacksmith.

No one had ever killed one of the raiders before.  No one had ever survived to tell the tales.  All the information they had was from sailors who had made port only to find a wasteland in place of a refuge.

Yet Will was one of the best swordsmen in the Caribbean, perhaps in the world.  If anyone could do the impossible, it would be him.

There were other options, of course, but Jack had a sneaking suspicion that this was the body of one of the raiders . . .the first one ever recovered.

Jack walked around the body and towards the bedroom, a light tread behind him assuring him that Ana-Maria still followed.  Placing his hand against the door he pushed lightly . . .and jumped back in shock as a blade sang through the air, missing his hand by less than an inch.

"You'll never take him, you filthy, blood-sucking worms!  You've already taken one—you'll not have him as well!  You'll come through me . . ."

The woman stopped as she stepped out the door and saw who it was that stood in her house.  Her hair was tangled and dirty.  Specks of blood showed brilliantly on the white shirt and trousers that she wore.  A dark red stain was slowly spreading from her upper left arm.

"Elizabeth."  Jack dashed forward and caught the woman as she swayed unsteadily and collapsed to her knees, tears beginning to leak down her face.

"Jack . . ."

"I'm here, mommy."

Both pirates looked up in surprise as the timid voice piped through the room, followed quickly by a blurred impression of dark brown hair on a small body that attached itself quickly to Elizabeth's side.

Elizabeth turned and grabbed the child in a tight embrace as she laughed through her tears.

"It's okay, honey, everything's okay.  Your Uncle Jack and Aunt Ana-Maria are here.  We'll be safe now, honey.  Don't worry."

The child nodded once, his face buried in her chest.

"Elizabeth, what happened?"  Jack reached out to touch her arm gently, guessing the pain that she was feeling and unable to help her.

Elizabeth stared at the pirate for a moment, still clinging to her child.

"They took him, Jack.  They took Will . . .they took Will and Ana and I couldn't stop them . . ."

Jack sat in stunned silence as Elizabeth broke down into fresh sobs, barely aware of Ana-Maria moving forward to comfort the other woman when Jack made no move to.

Will wasn't dead yet.

At least one of the children was alive and safe.

There was still hope.

Now he only had to determine how to hold on to that hope and make it grow into something real and tangible.

Something shaped like a blacksmith and a five-year-old child that were the closest thing to a real, normal family that Jack had.

End Note:  Um, maybe I should have mentioned this at the beginning . . .During my previous story, Will and Elizabeth have twins that they name Jack and Ana . . .


	2. Chapter 2: A Name and a Promise

Disclaimer:  If any of you seriously believe that I own them, or that Disney will give me any money for them, I pity you . . .Anyone who tries to sue me for the imaginary money that I don't have, I pity you more . . .

AN:  Seriously, folks, I need to sleep, and a tiny bit of help would be _tremendously_ appreciated.  How bloody long does it take to get from Port Royal to Tortuga?!  I've seen the movie three times, can't afford a fourth, and the only thing my friend had to say when I asked her was that the moon was full throughout the entire show (she loves astronomy), which could mean it took three day, three months, three years, or that the tech crew didn't both to change it for reasons of their own!  If no one knows, can you at least give me an estimate?  Ships are hard enough to look up . . .All I want is a relative time reference . . .

AN2:  This is completely unrelated to the story and may be skipped.  I just feel like writing it.  I just took my brothers to the fair, and one is now just barely big enough to go onto the midway and out of kiddy land now (the other has been for two years).  I introduced them to adrenaline-rush rides and have now, I think, created two monsters.  The one I liked most wasn't one of those, though—it was called Cliff Hanger, and it was sweet in that you lay down to ride and if you had your head far enough forward you couldn't see the restraints and your hands were free and it was really like flying.  It was the sweetest feeling I've ever had.  How does this relate to PotC?  It doesn't.  My other author's note was written after I'd fried my brain at band camp (quite literally—it's horribly hot).  This was written after six hours of relaxation and freedom (relatively), after having won a bear named Will, a bright, multi-colored, flower-like toy that has an expression that earned it the name Jack, and a beautiful black cat figurine that is named Ana, running into several of my friends unexpectedly, and having constantly had to stop myself from imagining how my favorite people from PotC would react to the rides, games, music and food.  Life is good.  Now on to finishing chapter so I can post it . . .

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 2**

Jack stared at the small child sitting across from him in silence, his hands twitching slightly as he tried to determine what to do with them.  Ana-Maria had taken Elizabeth into the bedroom to bind her arm, calm her down, and get her changed into less bloody clothes.  That left Jack with the child.

The boy stared right back, kicking his legs against the table leg, his brown eyes wide.

Jack couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"Your mom will be fine."  The child continued to stare and kick at the table.  "You're not hurt, are you, lad?"

The boy shook his head and the silence resumed.

"Uncle Jacky."  Jack groaned and closed his eyes for a moment.  It had been almost cute when they first learned to talk—almost, not quite, but he could tolerate it as long as Will kept the rum in stock.  On board a pirate ship, though, in front of a crew whose respect he needed . . .no, that definitely wouldn't do.

He leaned forward slightly and stared harder at the child, who stared right back, not backing off an inch, one foot still kicking the table.

"If I'm going to take you and your mum on my ship, I think it would be better if you called me Captain Jack Sparrow . . ."

The boy shook his head.

"Captain Sparrow . . ."

Again the negative response.

"Captain Jack . . ."

The lad just stared at the pirate.

"Fine, then how about just 'captain' or just 'Jack'?"

"No!"

The pirate jumped back as the young boy leaned forward to shout the word into his face.

"No what?"  Jack had no idea what the boy was talking about.

"No, you're not Jack."

"What?"

"_I'm_ Jack.  Daddy calls _me_ Jack.  You can't have my name!"

The boy stood up, fury evident in his face.  The pirate just stared at him, utterly bewildered.

"It was my name first, you know."

"Uh-uh.  My name!"

"Look here, son, your father named you after me, which means it _had_ to be my name first—ow!  Hey!"  Jack reached out to grab the boy, who had kicked him in the shins with as much force as he could muster.

"My name!  My name!  My dad!  He said they were bad pirates, and _you're_ a pirate, and you could be bad too!"

"Look here, I saved your dad's life, savvy?  And he saved mine.  We're friends!  I've known you since the day you were born!"  Jack stood up as well.

The boy continued to stare at the pirate, a mix of misery and fear and anger evident on his face.

"You still can't have my name.  It's mine.  My name.  What my daddy calls _me_."

Jack opened his mouth to speak but couldn't think of anything to say.

"Jack, what are you doing?"  Both the pirate and the child turned towards the voice as Elizabeth stepped out of the bedroom, Ana-Maria behind her.

"I leave you with my son for a few minutes and you manage to almost get in a brawl with him?  Don't you think it's a bit unfair, a pirate against a five-year-old?"

Jack smiled thinly at the women.  "Welcome back to the Caribbean, love."

"Mommy, he's trying to steal my name!"  The little boy ran over to Elizabeth and grabbed her leg, staring at Jack still, his brown eyes full of childish fury.

"Honey, he's been Jack Sparrow—I'm sorry, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow—for as long as I've known him, and that's a very long time—longer than I've known you."

"I don't care.  Daddy calls _me_ Jack . . .he's Uncle Jacky."

"I need to have a serious talk with your husband once we're done rescuing him, love."  Jack crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against the table, and glowered at the boy, who stuck his tongue out at the pirate.

"I'm sorry, Jack.  Will thought it was rather cute when they were younger, and our Jack _is_ around here a bit more often than you are."

"Shoot me for making a living."

"They'd rather hang you, Captain, and I think that I'll take the boy for a bit while Elizabeth tells you what she knows of what happened."  Ana-Maria gestured to the child, who followed her reluctantly into the bedroom at Elizabeth's urging.

"Jack . . .it really is good to see you again."  Elizabeth moved forward and hugged the pirate, who returned the gesture awkwardly.

"Elizabeth, what happened?"  Jack pushed a stray lock of her hair back behind her ear.

"They attacked early this morning.  Will had already gone to the shop.  I heard the cannon fire, and I brought the children inside.  I changed out of my dress so that I could fight if it came to that, but I didn't think it would.  What fool attacks during the day, when they can be seen clearly?  It should have been simple for Norrington to fend them off."

"But he didn't."

"Fate seems to have frowned on Port Royal.  The Commodore was killed in the first barrage . . .he never even knew what hit him."

Jack squeezed her hand tightly.  "I'm sorry.  He was a good commander, a good man—he must have made a wonderful godfather for Ana."

"He did.  I didn't know at the time that he had been killed, of course, so I wasn't completely repaired when the raider appeared."

"Why hadn't you locked the doors?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes tightly as more tears threatened to roll down her face.  "I was waiting for Will to come home."

"The raider attacked you.  You fought back."  Jack stated the obvious points.

"I fought to protect myself and my children.  I did my best, Jack.  I never stood a chance, though."

"Why?"

"He wasn't human, Jack.  Go look at his body.  Not a scratch on him."

Jack turned towards where the body had been rolled against the wall, then turned back to Elizabeth.  "No, not a scratch.  He's just missing his head."

"I cut him, Jack, I swear I did, but he didn't seem to feel it, and the injuries just disappeared."

Jack looked sharply at Elizabeth's face.

"He cut me, though, and I lost the sword.  That's when Will finally got home.  He was the better fighter, and I know he scored hits, but they all seemed to disappear just as they had during my battle.  So when Will got the opportunity, he cut the raider's head off."

"That seems to have worked."

"For a short time.  More raiders had arrived within a minute of their companion's fall.  Just long enough for Will to tell me Norrington was dead and the garrison in chaos while the port burned and to beg me to take the children and find a place to hide.  Just long enough for him to tell little Jack that the men were bad pirates and that's why we needed to go hide—it was the best he could think of to say at the time."  Elizabeth paused.

  
"Did you?"

"I never had the chance.  Two more raiders turned up at the door.  They seemed . . .shocked that Will had killed one of their own.  The first one acted like he was going to try to kill us.  The second stopped him and said that they needed to take Will alive.  He pulled a gun and said that he'd kill Ana if Will moved a muscle.  Even Will can't kill two men with one sword throw.  Will agreed to go if they left us alone.  Raider two agreed."  Elizabeth's voice had taken on a flat tone, completely expressionless.  "He herded us into the bedroom.  I have another blade in there—I thought I might get a chance to take him.  I tried, Jack, I tried to protect them, but he took Ana anyway, to keep Will in check, and he beat me when I tried to stop him, then winked at me as he walked out the door.  I couldn't do anything.  He took my husband and my child and humiliated me in front of my son and I couldn't . . .do . . .anything!"  Elizabeth's voice shook with suppressed rage.

"Easy, love.  You did all you could, Elizabeth.  You kept Jack safe.  That's what matters at the moment.  They're only a half-day ahead of the _Pearl_.  If they wanted Will alive then we have time.  Maybe Bootstrap got himself wrapped up in another curse that I don't know about."

"Jack, they could be anywhere!  If the _Pearl_ didn't see them when you were coming in, then they're too far away to find without help!"

"So we'll get help.  And don't forget . . .I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, and I don't take people messing with my friends . . .my family . . .very kindly."

"How are you going to fight them, Jack?"

"Well, it's an improvement over Barbosa.  At least these fellows will keel over kindly if you chop off their heads.  Now run along and convince your son to pack his bags.  Ana-Maria and I will be waiting to escort you to the _Pearl_."  Elizabeth nodded and moved to comply.

"And Elizabeth."  She turned to face the pirate.

"Don't worry.  I'll find him.  I owe him my life and quite possibly my sanity.  Just time to even up the score a bit."


	3. Chapter 3: A Curse or a Blessing

Disclaimer:  People who swelter for seven-and-a-half hours in the sun for a week straight can't remember whether they own anything or not . . .they live for the director's mouth forming the words 'at ease', 'water break', and 'lunch' . . .I think we can all lip-read those words by now . . .

AN:  I love band camp.  I hate band camp.  I can't decide.  My brother's are trying to kill each other every ten minutes.  One of my dad's good friends had his wife badly injured in a chemical explosion at the place where they work—second and third degree burns over her face, hands, and chest.  It took three fire extinguishers and the fire truck with the high-powered hose to get the reaction—and the fire it sparked—under control.  We had a band dance.  I can't dance, but I enjoyed myself trying to—I think it was rather amusing.  You probably don't care about any of this.  I've decided that the tech crew was nutters when working with the moon, that it takes a little over a day to go from Port Royal to Tortuga, and that ships are incredibly confusing.  Still working on the ships.  Thanks to all who attempted to help.  I think I'm high on life at the moment . . .Okay, enough babbling, they want to read a chapter, not the author's insane ramblings, even if said author's mind _is_ literally fried . . .

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 3**

Will attempted to move his fingers again, the growing numbness in them starting to frighten and frustrate him.  The bonds around his hands and ankles were cutting off the circulation, meaning each passing moment shoved him another minor eternity away from freedom.  He had managed to remove the blindfold, for what good it did him.

The cabin where he found himself was small, dark, and completely bare.  There was absolutely nothing he could use to help him break or even just loosen the bonds.

Fear and rage beat through his mind in a steady, pounding rhythm that matched his heartbeat.  He had agreed to come if they would leave his family alone, and they had broken their half of the agreement.

He had heard Ana crying and calling to him as they were led through whatever had remained on Port Royal and rowed to the ship.  If not for her he might have chanced a dive into the water, but he couldn't abandon his daughter.  He had struggled to remain patient and wait for the 'opportune moment' that Jack always talked about.

He feared that it might not come this time.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside his makeshift prison and he turned to face the door, struggling to keep from doing anything that Jack might have termed 'foolish'.

The door opened and the raider who had agreed to let his family go if Will came willingly entered, holding a tray in one hand, a sword strapped to his side.

Will felt his mouth curl up into a feral snarl of outrage and he instinctively tried to clench his unresponsive fingers into fists.

"You lying, bloody bastard—"

The raider laughed in his face.

"Come now, lad, can't you come up with anything better than that?"

Will shook with anger and rage that was unable to find an outlet.  This was one of the men responsible for destroying his home, his life, for injuring Elizabeth, for frightening his children . . .

"Inhuman monster."  He spit the words out as though they were poisonous.

"Perceptive lad."

Will tensed even more.  Jack could get away with calling him a lad—the pirate had seen more than Will ever wanted to in his life, and the term was one of endearment.

This man, though, this man had no right to refer to Will as a lad—he was twenty-six, a father and a successful businessman, a man who had seen adventure and lived to tell the tale.  He wasn't some soft nobleman's son.

"I'm no lad."

"You'd like to kill me, wouldn't you?"  The raider set the tray down and knelt to stare Will in the eye.  "You'd like to plunge a dagger right through my heart and out the other side."

"Where's my daughter?"  Will kicked out at the raider, who laughed as he easily dodged the strike.

"She'll be safe—as long as you behave.  Not that you'll care for that much longer."

Will stopped struggling to stare at the raider.  He would care for his children until death, and even after if he could, but if they were going to kill him, what was the point of dragging him away from his home, his friends, his family?  He would rather have died honorably defending them.

"You must be a very good fighter to have beaten Matthew.  Very good indeed."

Will remained silent.

"You'll make a fine addition, you will, once we're through."

Will tensed as the raider drew a small dagger from a sheath at his side and moved towards him.

"Calm, lad, just going to cut your bonds.  Wouldn't want to wreck your hands so that you can't use that sword of yours."

Will watched warily as the raider moved forward and quickly sliced through the ropes binding his wrists and ankles, which began to tingle painfully almost immediately.

  
"Eat up.  Can't have you dying of starvation, either."  The raider gestured towards the tray he had brought, the dagger still clenched in his fist.

Will waited until the tingling had died down before making his move.  Standing and moving forward as though to grab the tray, he lurched into the raider as the ship tossed slightly.  The man brought his hands in to grab Will, and the dagger was within reach.

Grabbing the man's arm and shoving with all his might, he brought the dagger down and into the raider's side.

The man responded swiftly, ripping the small blade from his own flesh and raking it across Will's chest, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake.

"That was bloody inconvenient, lad.  It might not kill us, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."  The raider rubbed his side where scar tissue was already starting to form and fade while blood still trickled in a growing stream down Will's chest.

"What were you planning on doing, anyway, out here in the middle of the ocean?  Going to jump overboard with your girl if you can even find her and get through my men and then swim in an unknown direction for an unknown destination for an unknown amount of time until you drown?"

Will continued to stare at the raider in disbelief.

"You should be dead."

"No, I shouldn't be dead.  You'll understand soon enough."

"I suppose I need a longer blade, then—one that can cut through your neck.  Maybe I'll eventually use yours."

Will jerked his head back as the sword was jerked from its scabbard and placed under his chin.

"I could kill you where you stand.  Then again, your daughter's a pretty thing, and even if they don't like what they're doing, my men follow orders.  Now, lad, I think it would be better if you behaved and forgot about touching my sword, or any sharp objects at all, for that matter, until we give you one.  Understand?"

"You'll give me a sword?"  The skepticism in Will's voice was unmistakable.

"I'll give you invincibility, lad."

"And what's it cost me?  My soul?"  Will laughed softly.  "Sorry, I'm not interested.  I already had that chance.  What curse have _you_ gotten yourself mixed up in?"

The raider laughed as he turned to go.

"Not a curse, lad, a blessing.  And you really don't get much of a choice."  The door closed, leaving Will in darkness again.

"No, not much of a choice at all."

Will could hear the words clearly through the door as the raider paused and then walked away.


	4. Chapter 4: Child On Deck

Disclaimer:  I own Jack and Ana, and when I say that, no one can say I'm stealing their characters, but they also can't be certain that I'm really not . . .oh well, I own the little ones and the bad guys, no one else . . .

AN:  Band camp is over!  I am free!  I'll almost miss it, though it means that I have real time again . . .at least a little bit, though I have to go to a friend's overnight birthday party tomorrow and watch my brothers again Sunday and Monday.  Oh well.  My grandma's doing at least a little better—they were able to cut down on her oxygen.  My feet are still attached to my body and my toes to my feet—nothing that wasn't attached could ache so much.

AN2:  The first was pointless and the result of a minor breakdown at the end of band camp.  I talked to myself for a full half-hour when I got home because no one else was here, and I think I convinced my section that I am a complete nutter during the last two hours of band camp, but who cares!  It was great!

AN3:  The second was also pointless.  All right.  Here we go into what I really meant to say.  You guys are really sweet, I mean _really_ sweet.  I didn't mean to make you all do research, I was just frustrated by everything that's happening in my life.  However, thanks to you really kind people and several Google searches, I have decided that the _Pearl_ is a not-quite-a-brig, not-quite-a-galleon, unique ship, and thus it shall stand until I can buy the bloody DVD and freeze it on pictures of the _Pearl_ to determine exactly _what_ it is.  I have also determined I can never be a sailor because ships are _extremely_ complicated.  Thus I think we'll keep out of major descriptions of the ship, though I'll do what I can and I'll try to give everything the right name, _try_ being the key word.  If anyone sees anything wrong, please inform me ASAP.  I promise I'm in a better mood and actually getting sleep now . . .not that I've ever bitten anyone's head off for giving helpful criticism, but rereading some of my old AN's for this story, I'm not sure what impression you guys got . . .

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 4**

Jack stalked along the short corridor, the struggling bundle held tightly against his side despite the numerous kicks, cries, wails, punches, and the few bites that were emanating from it.

The last thirteen hours had been some of the most memorable in his life.  The boy hadn't called him Uncle Jacky in front of the crew, for which he was grateful, but the lad had done enough other things to make Jack seriously consider jumping overboard, as he couldn't quite bring himself to think of throwing Will Turner's son off the side of his ship.

It had taken Elizabeth several minutes and many reassurances to convince the boy that he and Ana-Maria were still their friends and that it was a good idea to go with them to look for his father.  Once that was done, it was a fairly simply matter to encourage him to grab some clothes and follow along.

Childish curiosity had helped on that score.  The boy had never been on board a ship before, and he wanted to know everything that he could about it.

The walk through what remained of the port had been eerie and silent.  Jack had entertained an idea of looking for Norrington's body to give the man a decent burial, or Brian's, the young redcoat that had tried his best to defend the pirate for no other reason than he had a good heart, but he knew it would waste precious time.

Besides, whatever it was that had made them the good men they were, it had died with them . . .or moved on to something else.  Jack had always avoided giving much thought to what happened to the essence of a man when life abandoned him.

Giving respect to the dead could wait until the living were all cared for.

Getting Elizabeth and young Jack out to the _Pearl_ had been amusing, in a way.  Jack had ended up rowing as Ana-Maria and Elizabeth tried their best to keep the boy from either capsizing the small boat or simply sending himself down into the deep.

Neither had happened, though, for which Jack was immensely grateful at the time.

Once they had the boy on board things had gone from bad to worse.  Gibbs had come up to him and tapped him on the shoulder not fifteen minutes after they had arrived on the _Pearl_, while Jack was still setting a course that should bring them to Tortuga—and, he hoped, information—within two days.

"I know, I know, bringin' a woman on board is bad luck, but we've had Ana-Maria for eight years now and the only one who could say they've had bad luck is me."

"I wasn't goin' to say anythin' about that, Captain.  I was just wondering if you knew that the young master you brought on board is up in the rigging."  The aging man had pointed upwards.

Jack's gaze had followed the finger slowly upwards until it settled on the young boy, balancing on the yard for the topmast sail on the mainmast, leaning out towards the sails as he dangled with one hand from a rope.

The pirate was dimly aware of someone cursing in a mixture of English and Oriental tongues as he sprinted to reach the lad.

It had been an interesting chase through the rigging, and the boy had seemed intent on giving the pirate captain minor heart attacks by nearly falling multiple times.  Jack had found that he could balance much better when he wasn't chasing a child.  He had a lurking suspicion that the entire thing would appear hilarious to any crew members watching from the deck.

He hadn't been disappointed.  When he finally caught the lad and climbed down with the boy balanced on his shoulders, he had been met by a circle of grinning faces.

"What are you mangy dogs looking at?  Back to work!  It seems all yer good for, letting a lad climb up into the rigging and not noticing!"

The crew had responded quickly and efficiently, some looking ashamed, some disgruntled, and many wearing careful masks of neutrality.

Elizabeth had taken the boy then, and Jack had been able to return to captaining his ship.

Tales of the boy's antics quickly spread across the ship, though.  He had managed to get his head nearly stuck in a cannon and dropped a cannon-ball on one of the crew's feet before Elizabeth had brought him back on deck again.

"I'm so sorry, Jack.  I swear he's not normally like this."  Jack felt his anger dissolve at Elizabeth's weary tone.

"It's fine, love.  He's lost a father and a sister and a home all in one day.  He's on board a ship for the first time in his life with people his father's parting words lead him to believe could be the same type who caused it all.  His mother was hurt.  He's afraid and angry and young.  The ship will survive."

Jack hadn't added that he wasn't sure he would.

Jack had just settled in to showing off his ship to Elizabeth when a splash and a shout caught his attention.

"Cap'n!  That kid you brought, he went off the stern!"

Jack had only taken time to unbelt his sword and toss it into Elizabeth's hands before diving over the side to fetch the boy, who was screaming and flailing in the water.

After being dunked several times by the boy's overeager movements, Jack had finally managed to grab both the boy and the rope that his crew had tossed out to him, and both were quickly pulled on deck.

That was the last major bit of trouble that the boy had been able to cause.  Elizabeth had locked him in the cabin that Ana-Maria was sharing with the small family, as she was the only crew member besides Jack to have separate living quarters.

Jack had foregone most of supper in favor of drinking rum with Gibbs and Ana-Maria while Elizabeth watched her son.

He had awoken with a vague recollection of talks of mutiny and pirates not being babysitters and several curses that he rather didn't care to recall and friends lost and unending horizons.  He also seemed to recall a certain female pirate escorting her inebriated captain down to his cabin, stripping him of all but his pants, and directing him towards his bed.  It wasn't the first time she had done that for him; he was fairly certain that it wouldn't be the last, either.

It had taken him only a few moments to shake off the last vestige side-effects of the rum and discover that the reason he had woken was approximately five-years-old and playing with Jack's sword.

The sword was special, unique, a gift from Will when Jack had desperately needed it.

The young man had somehow worked the gold filigree into the shape of a bird in flight on the hilt, and the blade, perfectly balanced and finely sharpened, had a J inscribed on both sides of it roughly a half-inch below the hilt.

_Fit for a king and given freely to a pirate.  I didn't deserve it, Will.  I still don't._

_You do deserve it, Jack.  I made it for you, and that's all the proof you should need that you deserve it._

Jack had kept the blade in perfect condition, and he quickly snatched it out of the boy's hands.  A quick glance around his cabin had assured Jack that his sword wasn't the only thing the boy had gotten his hands on.

He had wasted no time in grabbing the boy and working his way towards Ana-Maria's cabin.

Quickly opening the door, he dropped the boy on the first cot he saw.

"I think this belongs to ye."

A lamp was quickly lit, and Jack saw that it was Ana-Maria he had thrown the boy at.

"Sorry.  Make that you."  He pointed towards Elizabeth, who was sitting up now on a different cot.

"Jack!  What have you done now?"

The pirate captain opened his mouth to protest before he realized that she was talking to the boy.

"I was just looking, mommy!"  Tears rolled down the boy's face.

"He tore my cabin apart and was playing with my sword."

"Jack, what did daddy tell you about playing with swords?"

"Don't do it unless it's a sword daddy made and daddy or mommy is in the room to watch."

"Right."

"The sword is one of daddy's."

Jack wondered how a boy so young could already discern the differences in craftsmanship between blades.

"Yes, daddy made it, but he made it for Uncle Jack, not for you, and you can't touch it unless you ask him first, okay?"

The boy crossed his arms over his chest, pouted, and then nodded unhappily.

"Now, come lie down and go to sleep."  Little Jack skittered over and lay down next to Elizabeth.

"Thank you for bringing him back, Jack, and I'm sorry again."

"No trouble."  Jack restrained himself from thinking about throwing the boy overboard and leaving him there.

Elizabeth didn't respond.

Staring over at her, he saw her eyes scanning his arms and chest and he realized what she was doing.

She was staring at his scars.

Some were two decades old and barely discernible.  Others were newer and easy to pick out.  Jack supposed that if he tried, he could tell exactly who had given him each scar and when.

Turning to Ana-Maria, he saw that she was also scanning his scars, her head tilted as though seeing him in a new light.

The dual attention made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"What, ladies, like what you see?"

Elizabeth blushed.  Ana-Maria laughed softly.

"We'll see you in the morning, Captain Jack Sparrow.  Go back to bed before you trip over your own feet and kill yourself."

Jack gave a mock bow, turned and left.

"I didn't mean to stare, Ana-Maria, it's just that it's been so long since I've seen him without a shirt I'd forgotten how many of them he has."

"I know, and so does he.  He just doesn't like being reminded of his mortality, or his 'failures'.  That's why he hates that brand on his arm."

The lamp was blown out and the room returned to darkness.

"You seem to know an awful lot about him."

"If you get Jack drunk enough, he gets philosophical.  He's gotten drunk enough a lot over the past eight years."

"Is he going to be all right?  If we don't find Will, or if we're . . .too late?"

"Aye.  He'll survive.  He's good at surviving.  The main question is, what will you do?"

Elizabeth's silence was all the answer that the female pirate received.


	5. Chapter 5: Directions

Disclaimer:  I'll sell you this and the small country that I own in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean at a very reasonable price if you believe that I own this . . .

AN:  The last chapter was supposed to have a point, but it got lost sometime between falling asleep at the keyboard, waking up to finish the chapter, and posting, but everyone seems to have liked it anyway, so yea!  I'm working on the bad guys, too, on getting them and their curse/blessing to be believable, but it's kind of hard for me to get into a bad guy's head.  Crazy pirates I can do, heroic blacksmiths I can do, feminist-before-her-time pirate-lover I can do, five year old kid I can do very well, but bad guys are hard, and the story is now almost evolving from the back forward—I know the ending, but the middle is significantly fuzzier.  Oh well . . .onward with the plot . . .

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 5**

Jack stalked through the back streets of Tortuga, his shoulders hunched.  Those who saw him moved as quickly as they could out of his way, both those who recognized him and those few who didn't.  An angry pirate captain that didn't appear to be looking for company and obviously wasn't too drunk to draw his sword was something to be avoided.

But Jack had moved beyond angry.

He was furious.

"Bloody bastard should have died a long time ago . . .should have come back sooner so that I could kill him . . .deserves it . . ."

"Yer well on the way to convincin' everyone in Tortuga that ye're really and truly mad, ye know."

"I don't care."

Ana-Maria laughed.  "Ye sound like the child."

Jack scowled deeper and then laughed, some of the tension draining out of his body.

"That's better.  Wouldn't want you to kill him before he could talk, would we?"

"No, not before he talks."  Jack continued walking.  "Maybe afterwards?"

"If ye want to kill him for a mistake he made twenty years ago, Jack, be my guest.  Just be patient about it, all right?"

"I hardly classify sending someone after cursed gold with a mutinous crew without so much as a 'look out' as a mistake."

"He's a pirate, Jack.  Ye shouldn't trust us.  What makes you so certain that he knew about the curse?"

"Oh, besides the fact that when I finally got back to Tortuga every other person on this god-forsaken hunk of rock knew _everything _about the curse and pointed to him as the source of information, nothing much."

"Hmm.  And the crew?"

"I was new to the area, love.  I knew Jacob vaguely, but that was it.  I asked for help in finding a solid crew.  He sends me Barbosa."

"Did you ever do anything to make him angry?"

Jack paused and cocked his head to one side.  "Not that I can remember."

"Well, then, I suppose ye're justified in killing him.  Just wait and see if he knows anything, all right?"

The pirate captain nodded.

He was allowing the crew to rotate off onto a short shore leave on Tortuga while he and Ana-Maria searched for information on Will Turner.  Elizabeth and little Jack were both staying on the _Pearl_.  After all the problems the boy had caused on board the ship, the pirate captain didn't even want to guess at what havoc the lad could wreak in Tortuga.  Elizabeth had protested slightly until he asked her if she really wanted to leave her son alone with just the pirates to watch—or not watch—him for however long it took to find information.

A few minutes later Jack found the run-down house that he was looking for and flung open door, nearly knocking it off its hinges in the process.

"Jacob Freelight!"

A woman bolted from the bed in the corner of the room, fastening her dress as she flew past the pirate in the doorway.  A man sat, dressed only in his pants, his sword out of reach, on the edge of the bed.  Brown-eyed and black-haired, with streaks of gray running through the black, his face was a pale ash color beneath the wind-beaten tan.

"Oh, good Lord . . ."  
  


"No, sorry, just Captain Jack Sparrow."  Jack stepped further into the room, his sword drawn and pointing directly at the other man's chest.  Ana-Maria stepped into the room after her captain, remaining silent and staying out of the way.

"Jack, old friend, you can't still be _that_ angry after eighteen years."

"I'm the one who carried a bullet around in his pistol for ten years and had to always fight with a sword because that bullet was meant for one person and one person only.  Tell me again that I can't be that angry anymore, Jacob."

Jacob had paled even more.

"Please, Jack, I really didn't mean anything by it, honestly, just a joke, you know?"

"A joke that should have ended in my dying at my own hand after going steadily mad for want of food and water."

"You're _not_ dead."

"Not _dead_, no."

"How did you find me?"

"You were never very good at going incognito, Jacob.  You should have just stayed out of the Caribbean altogether."

"What do you want from me, Jack Sparrow?"

"I _want_ your life, but I'll settle for information.  You're in port a lot more often than I am, and you always seem to know a good deal about the various curses and such on the treasure.  Information that you share so very quickly with everyone but your old friends."  Jack had paced steadily closer to the other man so that the blade now rested lightly against Jacob's chest.

The man cringed slightly and licked his lips.  "What do you want to know?"

"I knew you'd see things my way.  The raiders.  The one's who've been hitting ports and slaughtering as they plunder.  What do you know about them?"

"Why?"

The blade pressed down harder.  "I don't believe that's the answer I'm looking for."

Jacob didn't move.  "I won't tell you unless you tell me why."

The pressure on the blade eased.  "They took one of my men.  A good friend."

"Then forget him.  He's gone."

Jacob reeled back as Jack punched him.  "That's not what I wanted to hear."

Jacob rubbed his jaw, wincing as blood trickled down from a split lip.  "It's the truth, though.  If the raiders took him alive, he's gone, Jack.  Even if you find him, he won't be the man you knew."  He stood up so that the two pirates were face to face.

"They took a friend of mine, as well.  Daniel Hawk.  You probably don't know him.  He was the captain of the _Redtail_, a small ship, and he hadn't gotten a chance to build up much of a reputation yet, but he was a fine swordsman, a good pirate.  He was the only one from his ship in port when the raiders attacked.  His crew followed the code—they took off with the _Redtail_."

Jacob paused.

"Daniel's brother Peter was the first mate.  Peter thought his brother was dead.  Imagine his surprise when he saw him in Tortuga three months later."

"They make port here?"

"The raiders?  No.  They just needed to have emergency repairs done on their ship so that they could limp home with their loot.  It was the first and last time they ever made port in Tortuga."

"What happened to Hawk?"

"Peter recognized his brother and called his name.  Daniel turned towards Peter, yelled back at his companions 'family' . . .and proceeded to kill his brother."

Jack shrugged.  "So he killed his brother.  It's not all that uncommon around here."

"Daniel and Peter were closer than blood.  They cared for each other.  Peter hadn't wanted to leave Daniel, but he had no choice.  For Daniel to kill him without a second thought . . .I was there, Jack Sparrow.  I saw his eyes.  It wasn't the same man that I had known."

Ana-Maria made a slight hissing sound behind him.  It took Jack a moment to understand why.

_Ye were there, William Turner.  Ye saw 'is eyes.  'Twasn't Jack Sparrow that attacked ye._

"Men change.  Being abandoned changes a man."

"Yes, but it doesn't make them inhuman."

"What do you mean?"

"Peter wasn't a coward or a fool.  He fought back.  He cut Daniel.  When the fight was over, there was blood on Daniel's clothes and slashes in the fabric of his shirt, but not a single scratch on his body.  Whatever they are, they aren't human, and if they took your friend, Jack Sparrow, then pray that you never meet him again."

Jack stepped back, dropping the sword to his side.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Men change, Jack.  We were both young . . .oh, god, so very young.  You were a rival.  I kept information from you, yes, but you could have found out a great deal about the curse elsewhere, and I really didn't know what Barbosa was going to do.  Not that it matters.  I've got nothing.  No ship, no crew, no bloody chances.  I'm lucky to get off this god-forsaken rock and on a ship.  You, though, _you're_ the captain of the most well known pirate ship in the Caribbean.  Men _kill_ for a chance to crew on the _Pearl_."

"That's funny, considering that I never take the killers."

Jacob smiled sadly.  "Aye, you can pick and choose now, and your men come back for you, code be damned.  You won this game, Jack Sparrow.  If you want my life, take it.  I know you're the better swordsman."

Jack passed his gaze intently between Jacob and the blade.  Then, with a deft movement, he replaced the sword in its sheath.

Jacob exhaled wearily and sat down on the edge of the bed.  After a moment, he laughed softly.

Jack continued to stare at the man.

"What do you want from me, Jack Sparrow?"

"Where do the raiders make port?  Inhuman they might be, but the ship is real, and even inhuman monsters need somewhere to call home."

"Home.  What a strange word."  The pirate shook himself.  "I told you already, you don't want to chase these men.  They kill without mercy and without remorse.  Your friend is gone.  Give it up."

"I can't.  Do you know where they make port?"  Jack spoke slowly and clearly.

"The _Redtail_ followed the raiders.  Only one man made it back alive."  Jacob paused.  "But yes, he told me where they make port before he died."

"Tell me."

"No.  You don't understand what you're doing.  It's suicide.  Not only that.  Anyone you bring with you will die.  Why can't you just let it go?  They leave us alone and we leave them alone.  Look out for yourself first.  That's what pirates _do_."

"I can't just back out of this, Jacob.  You owe me.  Now tell me where I can find them."

"I warned you this time, Sparrow.  If you make it back, don't say I didn't warn you."  Jacob stood.  "Do you have a map?"

Jack pulled one from his coat pocket and unrolled it.  He had brought it in case they got lucky . . .and they had.

Jacob studied the map for a moment and placed a small X on it.  "Here.  Roughly two and a half days sailing from here in clear weather."

Jack nodded, re-rolled the map, and placed it again in his jacket pocket.  "Thank you, Jacob.  When I get back, if there's an opening on the _Pearl_, and your luck hasn't changed, I might look you up."

Jacob nodded.

"Good.  Then I'll just be off to find my friend and save the day."  Jack turned to leave, pausing in the doorway.  "Two things.  One, I don't know what you believe about yourself, but I am _not_ getting old."

Jacob smiled.  "So even time must bow to the mighty Captain Jack Sparrow."

Jack shrugged.  "And two, I'd go find that girl.  I really don't think you got your money's worth."

Laughter followed Jack into the street, where Ana-Maria fell in at his side.

"I thought you were going to kill him."

"Beating a dog that's already half-dead isn't much satisfaction.  Besides, he's right.  I won this game.  I have my ship, my rum, my friends, my loot, my crew, and my horizons.  He's got nothing."

"Will you honestly let him on the _Pearl_?"

"I'm a pirate and a dishonest man, love.  That makes me predictable, remember?  Figure it out."

Ana-Maria laughed and sidestepped a drunken pirate, noting vaguely that the crowd was no longer avoiding Jack like a plague-carrier.

"A pirate, yes, dishonest, to a point, but predictable?  Never, Jack."

"Captain, please, love."

"Of course, Jack . . .sorry, _Captain_ Jack . . .What are we going to do now, Jack?"

"What do you think?  We're going to go save the day, and in the process save my ship from destruction and what remains of my sanity by returning the little hellion to his rightful place."

Ana-Maria grabbed his arm, spinning him around so that he stood face-to-face with her.

"It won't be that easy, Jack.  Even if we rescue Turner, they don't have a home to go back to.  And even if you offer them a place on the _Pearl_, Will could never really accept life as a pirate, and he would never raise his children as pirates.  Why do you always have to search him out, Jack?  Will respects _you_, cares for _you_, but he can't abide by the life you've chosen.  That's assuming that he's in any condition to choose _anything_ by the time we find him."

Jack stared at her, his jaw tightening, the motion nearly imperceptible save for the fact that Ana-Maria was watching for it.  She was prepared when he pulled himself roughly free of her grip and resumed his march down the street.  The crowds again parted quickly to let him pass.

"Jack . . .Jack, please . . .I'm just tryin' t' make sure that ye're prepared for reality, Jack Sparrow!"  Jack spun around as Ana-Maria again placed her hand on his arm.

"And who's choice is it t' acknowledge yer reality?  Do I get a choice, or do ye make the rules fer me now?"

Ana-Maria stepped back, her own anger rising.  "You're no fool, Jack Sparrow.  Stop acting like one."

Jack bared his teeth in something that could have been meant as either a smile or a threat.  "I'll bring him back, and I'll drop him in any port that he asks for.  He's my _friend_."

"And you were his friend, but that didn't stop what happened with Almorte.  That hasn't stopped you from being injured in our raids.  Just be prepared, Jack, for whatever we find, and don't throw your life away on a fool's mission.  Ye've survived too long for that."  Ana-Maria unclenched her hand from its hold on his arm.  "Please."

The pirate captain closed his eyes and nodded.

The two pirates continued in silence down the street, the crowds once again closing around them, the collective sense of Tortuga recognizing that there was no more danger . . .

At least not for them.


	6. Chapter 6: Holy Weapons

Disclaimer:  If I owned stock in Disney maybe I could claim about 0.000001% as mine, but I don't own anything except my instrument (a clarinet, for you curious folks) and my mind, which I'm sometimes not sure if I want to admit to owning . . .

AN:  Sorry it's taken so long to get these chapters up.  Thanks for the patience.   Real life can be incredibly hectic, and I haven't been home at night for the last three . . .um, four? . . .not sure . . .nights.  Now that I am home, I will continue with the story, and hope that no important details have run away while I was out continuing with life.  Right.  Also, college essays are evil.  No more can be said about them than that.

AN2:  I mean no disrespect to anyone reading this who is Hindu or knows somebody who is.  I suppose that's why they decided to use the Aztecs in the movie—there aren't many people who can trace any heritage to them, and those who can probably wouldn't mind an ancient religion of theirs being used.  If this chapter is confusing, it's because I had the gist of what the curse/blessing would be and cause, and worked backwards towards a source.  Yeah, _that_ doesn't work very well.  Put anything that needs clearing up into a review.  Oh well, like I said, I'm not very good at bad guy stuff . . .

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 6**

One, two, three, four, five, wall, turn . . .one, two, three, four, cot, turn . . .one, two, three, four, five, wall, turn . . .one, two, three, four, wall, turn . . .

Will paced around the confines of his small cell.  He was fairly certain that he knew every crack in the flagstone and every brick in the wall personally, and he had only been there for eight hours . . .or at least he was fairly certain it had been about eight hours, the only source of light in the room being a lamp that hung from the low ceiling.

It had taken them three days sailing from Port Royal to reach their destination, and Will disliked it intensely.

Caves.  Ever since the fight with Barbosa, Will had a rather strong dislike of caves—not that it had mattered much in Port Royal.  He had felt a familiar sense of panic twist at his insides as he was led, his hands bound once more, through the entranceway and into the island.

These caves were nothing like the ones where Barbosa and his crew had camped, though.  They was no water inside the caves, and the ceiling was intact.  Once past the entranceway, which seemed a completely natural formation, it appeared as though someone had carefully cut into the stone, making it symmetrical, changing the feel of the place to something almost like an underground castle.  In the innermost parts, where the raiders obviously lived, flagstones had been placed on the ground, and bricks formed the walls, dividing what once might have been a very large cavern into small cells like the one that he occupied.

Will paused in his walking at the cot and kicked it gently, not wanting to damage his foot due to frustration.  That would definitely fall under the headings 'stupid' and 'foolish'.

The raiders had been incredibly careful with him, treating him almost as he treated Elizabeth, as though fearful that his human body might break at any moment.  They had bandaged his chest despite his protests, and made sure that he ate and slept at regular intervals.  Given what they were, Will supposed it was only natural, but it still made him distinctly uneasy.

He really, really didn't want to become one of them.

Given a choice, he would simply leave with his daughter and swear to forget anything had ever happened.

He might even succeed in forgetting, eventually.

Yet no one was giving him that option . . .

Or any options, for that matter.

Will resumed his pacing.

Footsteps sounded outside his door and he stopped, moving into the center of the room.  The sound of the lock being unbolted echoed in the small enclosure as the door swung open.

The same raider who had brought him food every day, the one that Will had stabbed, was standing there, a tray in his hands again.

Will stood silently, waiting for the man to set the tray down and leave as he had all the other times on the ship.

Instead, the raider closed the door, signaling to someone who stood out of Will's line of sight.

The small cell suddenly seemed claustrophobic.

"What do you want from me?"

"It's what we'll give you that should interest you, lad."

"I don't want your invincibility or your immortality or your blessing or whatever you want to call it.  I just want to take my daughter and go home."

"You don't have a home left, lad.  We're giving you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here.  What have you got left out there?"

"I have a wife and a son!"

"Are you certain of that?"

Will's blood froze in his veins.  "You swore . . ."

"We didn't kill them, no, but that doesn't mean that they're still alive, or that they're still in the Caribbean.  The little lady must think that you're dead by now."  
  


"Elizabeth will come after me."

"How, lad?"

How, indeed?  They hadn't heard from Jack in months, and the British Navy, once they determined that something was wrong, would hardly take the word of a woman, especially one talking about raiders who couldn't be injured, seriously . . .

If Norrington had survived, it would have been so much easier to hope.

"Even if she comes after you, that only means that we'll have to kill her."

Will stared at the floor in silence.

"Lad, what's your name?"

Will looked up in surprise.  They had shown no interest in calling him anything but 'lad' until now.  In fact, they hadn't spoken to him at all, save for this man the day that Will had stabbed him.

"What's yours?"  Will wracked his brain for a believable false name.

"Marcus.  And if you're thinking of telling me a name that isn't yours, don't.  I need your name, lad, or it'll be your death, and that would a tragic waste of talent that the brotherhood needs."

Will hesitated another moment before answering.  "My name is Will Turner.  What brotherhood do you speak of?"

"Will short for William?  Good.  As for the brotherhood, that's a long story, lad, but it's what you'll be joining."

"I don't _want_ to join."  Will spoke slowly and firmly, using the same voice he used on the twins when they weren't minding but hadn't yet crossed the line into out-and-out rule breaking.

"It doesn't matter that you don't want to _now_."  Marcus rubbed his hand along the hilt of his sword, still firmly strapped to his side.  "It doesn't matter if you _hate_ us now."

"I don't understand."

"Are you familiar at all with India?"

Will shook his head no.

"They have very strange customs there, a very strange and barbarous people, and they hate the British.  Not just the British, of course, but any power that tries to bring civilization to them.  They worship very strange gods.  One of their most powerful is Kali, a mother goddess and a queen of destruction.  She was seen as night, the devourer of all things finite.  The bloody people would make statues of her standing on the corpse of her god consort, Shiva, the dancer, who danced things both into and out of creation."

Will attempted to appear interested.

"You probably don't care much, do you, lad?  You should, though.  They would murder the rich in her name, strangling them with a cloth.  They would sacrifice their own flesh and blood.  There was one man, though, who hated the British, hated them with a fury born from the loss of his wife and unborn child in the crushing of a minor rebellion.

"He collected twenty-four swords from fallen British men, and he called upon his goddess to bless them as holy weapons.  He spilled the blood of his eleven-year-old son upon them to invoke more favor from the goddess, and let his own blood soon after, that the ties of family might be upon those who bore the swords.  His daughter was to take the blades and give them to the loyal so that the blessing might be used to defeat the British.  She never had the chance, though.  They were betrayed by a friend, and the girl hung while the blades were distributed to the loyal within one of the garrisons."

"Was that when you became . . .?"

"No.  For the first year, there was no difference in those who had been gifted with the blades, and it was nearly forgotten.  Then Aaron and Jason decided to settle an argument with a duel.  I'm not sure if Jason truly meant to attempt to kill Aaron or if it really was an accident, but he thrust his blade through Aaron's heart.  Imagine his surprise when the man stumbled back and stabbed Jason through the heart before pulling Jason's blade from his chest."

"Both men had been given the swords."

"Aye, both had been, and both lived, not even a scar to tell the tale.  Our commander was . . .intrigued, to say the least.  He had them cut their arms, but the wounds didn't heal.  So he began calling the ones who had been given the swords before him, one by one, and stabbing them with their own blades."  Marcus paused.  "I was the last one, the twenty-fourth man.  When he struck me he created the brotherhood.  All of our injuries healed instantly, but that wasn't the major change, no, not by a long shot.  We were tied to each other, by bonds stronger than anything I'd ever felt in my life.  Even Aaron and Jason couldn't fight it.  We would defend each other from harm in any way we could."

"If you were soldiers in India, how did you end up in the Caribbean?"

"Defending each other from harm in any way that we can, lad.  They tried to use us as a unit to put down the uprisings.  The orders to place our brothers in danger, out of our help . . .the pain that brought . . .it's indescribable.  We killed our commander, we stole a ship, and we ran."

"You place each other in danger now, with your raids."

"We need provisions to survive, or at least we're fairly certain we do, and it isn't someone else ordering our brothers to their death, it's us, all of us, _together_.  The pain is bearable then."

"I killed one of you."

"Aye, and you aren't the first man whose managed that.  Daniel, the man outside, he killed Jason, and he took his place, just as you will take Matthew's place, so that the brotherhood can be complete again and the pain will stop."

"You can only die if someone cuts off your head?"

"The body can't work without the mind.  If, though, you somehow managed to wrest Carsa from me—"  Marcus rubbed a hand down the hilt of his sword lovingly.  "I would be as mortal as you are.  That won't happen, though.  I'm bound to the sword and the sword to me, as you will be to Nerla, and the swords bind us to the brotherhood."

"They have names?"  Will wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry.

"Aye, they have names, and personalities.  You'll understand soon enough though, lad.  Eat up, and you might want to take your shirt off pretty soon.  It's only about an hour to dawn, and you don't want to get it all bloody.  Aye, you'll understand very soon."

Marcus turned and left, the sound of the lock being set echoed again through the cell, and Will was left alone, any appetite that he might have managed to maintain suddenly gone.

He had a really, really bad feeling about this.

He was going to be stabbed . . .through the heart . . .with a sword . . .and supposedly transformed into one of those . . .things . . .and he hadn't even done anything stupid!

All he'd done was attempt to protect his family.

Will resumed his pacing, his heart racing as he tried to find a way out of the mess that he was in, but no solution would come.

And he was running decidedly short on time.


	7. Chapter 7: Nerla

Disclaimer:  I still say that these guys play in my head more than in their creators so I should own them, but the lawyers don't seem to agree with my perspective . . .

AN:  People understood!  Yea!  My bad guys are actually doing good!  *Stares hard at previous sentence*  _That _made sense.  We'll try to keep sentences like that out of the main story.  Thanks for reviews, and my grandma is doing slightly better again.  She's now able to take the oxygen off when she's sitting up, and she comes out to the table for a little bit each day.  Depending on what the specialist docs that they sent sample slides to say, she might have to go to a Wisconsin hospital for intensive treatment for the liver cancer, but at least she seems to be doing a little better now.  I also found a way to make my brothers behave—buy them Icees and threaten to tell my grandfather, an ex-navy man who isn't taking my grandma's illness very well, if they misbehave.

AN2:  Someone said my pirates are too well educated . . .If you mean Jack, I thought he seemed to be fairly well-educated for a pirate during the movie . . .If you mean the raiders, I don't know what kind of an education soldiers received, and I hadn't thought to research it . . .(slaps wrist for not thinking clearly and doing research) . . .Which ones are too well educated so that I can fix this when I get around to reposting with all the mistakes corrected?

AN3:  Mom/mommy and dad/daddy fall into the bad author didn't even think about it to research it category as well.  I'll try to fix it in later chapters, and eventually I'll repost the beginning chapters with the fixes.  All right, finally on to the story.

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 7**

Will kicked, punched and even bit at any target that they gave him, dug his feet in anywhere that the opportunity presented itself, and basically made a nuisance of himself as Marcus, Daniel, and some others that hadn't had the decency to introduce themselves half-led and half-dragged him from his cell and through the winding corridors of the raider's home.

He had decided originally, as he removed his shirt, that he wasn't going to fight them unless he thought that he actually had a chance, that he was going to meet his fate with dignity and honor, not like a kicking, screaming child.

That idea had disappeared as soon as Marcus grabbed his arm and said that it was time for him to take his place in the brotherhood.

He consoled himself with the fact that he wasn't screaming . . .at least not yet.

"Lad, stop it.  We don't want to hurt you."  Marcus grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his side.

Will laughed, an almost hysterical note in his voice.  "No, you just want to steal my soul!  Just kill me!  Please!"

"It's not thievery!  We're helping ourselves and giving you a gift!  Now stop acting like a child and accept it."

In response Will threw his head back, ramming it into Marcus's nose.  Will felt a warm liquid drip onto the back of his neck.

Marcus released him.  "Bloody hell, lad, I told you it still hurts!"

Another raider grabbed his arm before Will could move, twisting it up behind his back painfully.  Will heard the bones in his wrist grind together.

"If I could survive, so can you, boy.  Now move, or I will slit your throat and then I'll have your daughter before I slit hers."

Will felt the prick of a dagger on the side of his neck.

"Daniel, back down.  We don't want to hurt him now, not when we're so close.  Besides, the lad can't help being frightened."

The dagger was removed from his neck but Will's arm remaining pinned at a painful angle to his back.

"I was frightened when you took me, but at least I met my fate like a man."

"You were a pirate, brother.  We were soldiers.  He's a young craftsman with an extraordinary gift in swordsmanship.  It's harder for him."

Will heard Daniel mutter something, but the words were unintelligible.  He fought the urge to both laugh and cry as the small procession continued on its way, no longer hampered by his escape attempts.

"What are you going to do Ana now that you have me?"

"Your daughter?  Nothing, lad.  You'll do it yourself."  Marcus clapped one rough hand on Will's shoulder.

Will heard the buzz of hushed voices coming from a lighted chamber up ahead and attempted once again to wrench himself free, but Daniel merely pulled upward on his arm, causing agony to shoot up and down Will's right side as well as through his arm.

"Daniel . . ."  The pressure eased at Marcus's unspoken warning.  "Now, lad, try to stand tall.  Don't let your last minutes as a mortal human be filled with shame."

Will remained silent as he was led into the well-lit room.  All of the raiders were there, and Will noted that all of them had drawn their swords, save for Marcus and Daniel, the only two remaining in his guard as he was led through the now-silent room.  As he neared the front he attempted in one final, desperate move to wrench himself free, but Daniel again held him back.

Two wooden poles had somehow been set into the floor, and ropes with leather bonds attached to the end hung from them, set roughly a foot above Will's head.

Before he could think to move again, Marcus had grabbed his left arm and Daniel had untwisted his right.  Both men quickly fastened the bonds to his wrists and Daniel stepped back into the crowd.  Will tugged at the bonds hopefully, but they held firm.

Staring across the sea of two dozen faces, forced to stand straight or place his weight on his arms, Will had a sudden and total empathy for how Jack must have felt while Almorte tortured him.

Will lifted his eyes above the crowd, hoping to calm his racing pulse, and nearly vomited at the sight that greeted him.

Set on platform above the door that they had just entered was the head of the raider that Will had killed.  Matthew—the man that had gotten him into this by attacking Elizabeth.

Will cursed him silently as Marcus held up one hand in an unnecessary gesture to quiet the already-silent raiders.

"As you are all aware, our brother Matthew met with defeat and true death at the hands of this lad, Will Turner.  In repayment for his action, the lad will be given to Nerla, so that the brotherhood might be made whole again and the pain we are suffering end.  Any who disagree with this decision, speak now."

The raiders all stared at Will, none of them moving a muscle.  Will stared right back, breathing rapidly and still trying to find a way out.

"Paul . . ."  A raider that Will didn't recognize stepped forward, bearing a drawn sword in one hand and a second in a scabbard in the other.

Marcus drew the second sword reverently before turning to Will again.

"Nerla, we offer you William Turner to take the place of Matthew, our brother that was lost.  Grant him acceptance of his place, peace in his life, and power over his mortality."

Marcus stepped forward until he stood directly in front of Will.

"Are you ready, lad?"

"Please . . .please . . ."  Will pulled as far away as he could from Marcus and the sword, his breath coming in ragged gulps.

"I'm sorry, lad.  Accept it quickly . . .it makes it much easier."

Before Will's mind could even form a response, Marcus stepped forward and in one fluid motion drove the blade through Will's chest and out the back.

Will's back arched and his mouth opened in a silent scream as blood coursed down his chest and back.

He had expected the blade to be cold as it pierced his flesh, but instead it was warm, no, not just warm, searing, burning his flesh from the inside out, and some portion of Will assured him that he must catch fire soon, that it must end soon . . .

Through the heat and the pain, Will detected a faint throbbing, a pulsing sensation that grew stronger and stronger until it beat in his ears, a counterpoint to his heartbeat . . .

Heartbeat?  Hearts didn't beat when they had a blade thrust through them.

The pulsing continued, crescendoing until his body shuddered with each beat.

_Will Turner . . ._

The words formed themselves from the pulse as it aligned itself more closely with his heartbeat.

_Will Turner . . ._

Will struggled to scream, to form words, to deny what was happening, even to beg for mercy and relief, but his body would not obey him.

_Will Turner . . .by the grace of Kali and Shiva, you are mine, Will Turner . . ._

_No!_  Will screamed the word silently, repeatedly, even as the pulsing moved closer and closer into alignment with his heart.

_I am Nerla, and you are mine, and I will protect you, Will Turner, I will protect you, and you will belong to me . . ._

_No!  No no no no no no no . . ._

_I will give you brothers, brothers who will die to protect you, brothers that will kill to save you, brothers that you will love with all your being and be tied to as strongly as if you were one . . ._

_No!  No . . .I have a family, a good family, I have Ana and Jack and Elizabeth, I belong to them, I belong to me, leave me **alone** . . ._

_You belong to me, William Turner, to me and to those I choose . . ._

_No!  I have my family and I have friends . . .Jack and Ana-Maria and Gibbs. . ._

_Pirates and murderers.  All your other friends are dead, dead by the brotherhood.  Let the pain stop, Will Turner.  Give yourself freely to me!_

The pulsing of his heart and the sword grew closer, closer, closer . . .

_No!_

And finally overlapped.

Will was abruptly aware of dangling from his wrists as the sword was drawn from his chest.  Two pairs of strong arms lifted him up and undid the bonds before gently clasping his hand around the hilt of the sword and bringing the hand in to his chest.

"Accept it, lad."  Marcus's voice whispered faintly in his ear.

"No . . .never . . ."  Will struggled to open eyes that he didn't remember closing and gazed into the older man's eyes.

Shivering violently from pain, exhaustion, anger and fear, he purposefully unclenched his fist and allowed the sword to drop from his hand to the floor.

Pain immediately shot through his chest and head, echoed by various other parts of his body.

"Nerla . . ."

He hadn't meant to call for the sword, let alone in the plaintive tone that he had used, and he had no intention of accepting it back despite the pain he was in, but his hand seemed to have developed a mind of its own as it reached out, fingers shaking, to snatch the blade as Marcus retrieved it.  His hand settled the hilt above his heart, his arm shielding the blade, and he could almost fancy that he could hear it pulsing still.

"Thank you . . ."  Again he hadn't meant to speak.

"You're welcome, brother."  Marcus stared kindly at him.  "You've already started to accept it, brother.  Finish the job and end the pain."

Will opened his mouth, closed it without speaking, opened it again, and whispered the word, so softly that even he could barely hear it.

"No."

Pain flared again through his head and chest as darkness rose to greet him, blessedly free of voices, actions and desires not his own.


	8. Chapter 8: Drinking Alone

Disclaimer:  I only own the little one who is attempting to drive away what remains of Jack's sanity . . .

AN:  Having to choose what to do for senior pics is scary . . .organizing freshman orientation is fun when it turns into a free-for-all reminiscence party between you and your three closest friends . . .parents can be incredibly stupid and obnoxious, even when they're just hurting each other and not you, forcing you to watch from the sidelines and saying that what they do is none of your business when my family and friends and, more recently, my fiction is what keeps me sane and grounded in some form of reality.  Sometimes I hate them, and then I feel bad for hating them when I know that things are hard on them as well.  I'm making myself feel bad now.  Enough.  Write story, get reviews, feel happy.

AN2:  D, if you find and read this one, don't try to make me talk about this.  I can barely write about it, and writing is my most intense form of communication.  All other people can ignore this note.

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 8**

Jack leaned his chair against the wall of his cabin on two legs, shifting his weight so that he didn't fall over every time a wave caught the ship.  It was a trick he had learned a long time ago, one that he had perfected to the point where he could manage it even after passing the line from drinking to drunk.

He thought he had passed that line about a half-hour ago, but he wasn't entirely certain anymore.

The day had been hectic, to say the least.  He had set the ship on her course and guided her for the first eight hours or so before handing her over to a competent crewman.

He couldn't exactly remember who that was at the moment, but he was sure that it was someone competent.  Even when he was drunk he would never turn his ship over to an incompetent or to someone he didn't trust, and he knew that he hadn't been drunk at the time.

No, the drinking had come afterwards, after supper, after seeing Elizabeth and the demon that Will had perversely named after the pirate captain to Ana-Maria's cabin for the night.

He was vaguely aware that this was one of a handful of times when he had gotten seriously drunk alone.  Even after the disaster on the _Deadlock_, he had gotten drunk with Ana-Maria.

He was distinctly sure of that fact, given that she had pried the rum out of his hand and wrestled him into bed against his loud protests, insisting that she wasn't going to stand by and let him drink himself to death over an accident.

Considering what had happened a month after, he sometimes wondered if it wouldn't have been kinder for all involved if she had simply allowed him to finish himself off then.  At least he would have died doing something he liked, though he had to admit it wasn't quite so dashing an end to his tale as dying in a raid or going down with his ship or even hanging.

Today, though, today he was getting seriously drunk alone.  There was no danger that he would drink himself to death, no, not this time . . .

This time he had a duty to perform.

Will Turner.  The man had come into Jack's life quickly and within a matter of days turned it upside down . . .

Or maybe right side up.  Will had helped him reclaim the _Pearl_, after all, and his ship was his life.  True, the boy's naivety had been . . .annoying, to say the least, but it had worn off quickly, and there was a good man beneath the constraints of honor and nobility.  A good man, the son of a friend . . .and a friend in his own right.

Will and Elizabeth had saved not only the pirate's life, but his sanity, and perhaps whatever ragged remains he had of a soul when they took him in after the run-in with Almorte.  It was a heavy debt, and one that Jack had never fully thought he'd be able to repay.

Now, though, Ana-Maria had forced him to see that he might, indeed, have a chance to repay the lad in full.  He had carefully avoided thinking of what the raiders might have done to the lad, or, God protect her, the girl, in the five days it would take the _Pearl_ to finally catch up to them.

_Ye can't e'en think of them by name, can you?  Coward_ . . .

Jack quickly downed the rest of the rum in the bottle, drowning out the voices in the dark peace of forgetfulness.

Now he remembered why he didn't drink alone except after he had been dying of thirst on deserted islands . . .

It was so much harder to take philosophizing when it turned inwards.

A tentative knock at the door caused him to send the chair back onto four legs with a crash that nearly sent him tumbling to the floor.

He had a bad feeling about this.  The crew wouldn't interrupt him unless something was wrong with his ship, and he thought that he would have felt any significant difference, even as drunk as he was.

Ana-Maria usually didn't knock—she would just open the door, laugh at him, and send him to bed as though he were a naughty child.

The child didn't knock when he came to destroy the carefully organized chaos that filled Jack's cabin.

Jack belatedly realized that whoever it was must be waiting for a response.

"Come in."

The door opened quickly and Elizabeth stepped in, wearing trousers beneath her white cotton nightgown.  She had quickly realized that to have full run of the ship, she needed to wear clothes that the male members of Jack's crew, sometimes, she thought, including Jack himself, could not 'accidentally' look up.

Jack staggered quickly to his feet, grabbing his hat and placing it rather crookedly over his red bandana.

"Oh, good lor', the demon's gotten up into the riggin' again, ha'n't he?"

Jack had decided that the boy was more monkey than human.  During the last day, Jack had been forced to pull him down out of the rigging twice.  The second time he had told the boy that he would leave him up there forever, but he could only stand a little over ten minutes of Elizabeth gasping and his own heart skipping a beat every time the boy did something that should have gotten him killed but didn't.

The crew had been much more careful after that about watching young Jack when he was on deck, and the boy had eventually given up and retired below decks to wreak havoc.  Jack had carefully avoided anyone who might be bearing more complaints.

"No, Jack, he's . . ."

"Fallen overboard?  Killed one of the crew?  Put a hole in the ship?"

"No, Jack, this isn't about . . .Jack."  Jack sighed in relief and sank down into his chair again . . .or where his chair _should_ have been.  He crawled backwards and hauled himself onto the seat, trying to salvage what dignity he could.

"You're drunk, aren't you, Jack Sparrow?"

Jack opened his mouth to protest and decided against it.  The lady was too smart, and lying in this instance could be deemed hazardous to his health.

"It doesn't matter, Jack.  I know that you'll be ready when we need you.  I just thought . . .Never mind."  Elizabeth turned to leave.

Jack stared at her in blatant surprise.  Normally Elizabeth would have given him a good tongue-lashing about the evils of rum and drinking.  Today she was complimenting him and leaving.

No, leaving wouldn't do.  She had to have come for a reason.

"Wait, Elizabeth.  What did you want to see me about?"

"It doesn't matter, Jack."

"It has to, if you waited until the monster fell asleep and then came to find me."

"I just . . .Jack, what if Will isn't . . .I don't have any home left to return to, any family left, and women without family, Jack, they don't have any chance, any choices . . ."  Elizabeth seemed to be on the verge of crying.

Jack staggered upright and pulled her awkwardly into a hug.  "You and yours are welcome on the _Pearl_ for as long as y' need a home, love.  You should know that."

"I'm not sure the rest of your crew agrees, Jack."  Her voice was muffled as she returned the embrace, burying her face in his shoulder.

Jack thought for a moment and grinned.  "I didn't say what part of the ship, now did I?"

Elizabeth looked up and grinned slightly.  "You would really lock Will's son in the brig?"

"It's better than making him walk the plank."

The grin faded.  "Jack, I honestly don't know what to do.  I've never been so afraid of losing someone.  I love him, Jack, with all my heart, and my child, Jack . . ."

"C'mon, love, I'll bring him back to ye, and no matter what they did, he'll heal.  He's a strong man, a stubborn man.  Just have faith and patience."

Elizabeth stepped back to stare at the pirate.

_He needs time, Will, but he'll work it out._  _Jack's a strong man, a stubborn man._

Jack was speaking nearly the same words to her about Will that she had spoken to Will about Jack five years earlier.  A small smile played at her lips.

Will's doubts had at least been based on the pirate captain lying mute and unresponsive on a cot in their house.

Hers were based on fear . . .and loneliness.

"I trust you, Jack."

"Good."  The pirate disengaged himself from the embrace and staggered back to the table where he picked up his rum bottle, only to stare at it in disappointment when it proved just as empty now as it had been minutes before.

"Jack, don't you think that you've had enough?"  Elizabeth pulled the bottle from his hand and gave him a small shove towards the bed.

"This is my last chance, love.  Can't drink tomorrow . . .the _Pearl_ will be at their little port either tomorrow night or early the next morning.  Being drunk while facing unkillable-save-by-chopping-off-their-heads men is not a suggested course for survival."

"If you want to be able to captain your ship tomorrow, drinking more is not a suggested course of action."  Elizabeth pulled him around the table and gave him a gentle shove towards his bed.  "Go to sleep, Captain."

"Alone?"  Jack did his best impression of a whipped dog.

Elizabeth laughed.  "Yes, Jack, alone.  I've been taken for a long time, not to mention the fact that if the little demon wakes up and I'm gone you and your ship are going to pay for it."

Jack sat down, still fully clothed, no longer feeling quite capable of rolling with the motion of the ship.

"Two women on board, and both of them are constantly sending me to bed alone.  A man could get to feeling decidedly unwanted here."

"Oh, poor Captain.  Don't worry, Jack, we do love you . . .just not like that.  I'll see you in the morning."

Jack watched her leave before blowing out the lamp and surrendering himself to a blessedly dreamless sleep.


	9. Chapter 9: Family

Disclaimer:  I only own the cute little one that is going to get severely traumatized in a few minutes . . .(muse kicks author for giving away part of story) . . .I mean I can't think of a smart disclaimer at the moment . . .

AN:  Hmm, the last author's note wasn't very happy.  No, not very happy at all.  There was something not depressing that I wanted to put here, but I forgot what it was.  Oh well.  It'll come to me and I'll decide to put it in the next author's note and then forget about it again.  Thanks to all those reviewing, by the way.

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 9**

Will opened his eyes slowly, surprised when pain didn't immediately flare anywhere in his body.  He had vague recollections of coming to before, but try as he might, they didn't seem to want to solidify . . .

_Will screamed in pain and denial as he fought the man who was struggling to hold him down, to keep the sword from causing injury to anyone, including Will himself._

_"Damn it, boy, just accept it!  You're hurting us, you pathetic little whelp!"  The blow had caught Will cleanly across the mouth and he slumped backwards as blood trickled from a cut that healed almost instantaneously.  Pain settled into a dull throb where the injury had been._

_"Daniel, leave him be!"  Marcus was hauling the other man off him before Will could determine if he wanted to try to move again._

_"He's hurting us, Marcus!"_

_"He's hurting himself, and by causing injury to a brother, you're hurting us as well.  Why do you dislike him so?  Because he's stronger than you?"_

_"He's pathetic!  He was practically begging, and he screams as though his soul is being ripped from him body!"_

_"He's resisted far longer than any other man, Daniel—far longer than you yourself could.  There's a core of iron in him.  He'll accept it soon, though, and the pain will end—for him and for us.  Go rest, Daniel.  I'll watch him."_

_"He shouldn't have a scar still, let alone be bleeding."_

_"He'll accept it.  Men kill to live.  Compared to that, this is nothing."_

_Will watched through the pain and haze as Daniel left without another word.  Marcus sat in a chair beside the bed and tilted Will's head towards him._

_"Just accept it, lad.  It really isn't that bad."_

_Will shook his head and arched his back as another wave of pain swept away conscious thought . . ._

The memory retreated as quickly as it had come.

_I can give you many things, Will Turner.  I protect you, I care for you, I give you what you need.  Trust in me._

Will jolted upright as he realized that he was still clutching the sword to his chest.  He quickly pulled it away and stared at it in the lamp-light, studying the craftsmanship.

_I am well-made, though not perfect, but I can fit your hand well, and I can protect you.  Trust me._

Will turned his gaze from the blade to his own chest and traced the thin white scar that marked where the blade had entered his body.

He looked up in surprise as Marcus walked into the room and tossed a shirt in his direction, finally noticing that the door to his room was unlocked and open.

"My sword is talking to me."

Marcus laughed.  "Aye, they'll do that when they want to.  You'll get used to it."

"You don't understand.  My sword is talking to me.  My sword is reading my mind and answering my thoughts with thoughts of its own.  A bloody _sword_ is _talking_ to me!"

Marcus sat down beside Will on the bed and placed one hand on his shoulder.

"Let me see the sword, brother."

Will gratefully moved to hand the sword to the older man . . .and stopped and reversed mid-move, again shielding the weapon with his body.

"Aye, she has you now, brother.  Put the shirt on."

Will did as he was told, switching the sword back and forth between his hands, hating himself for needing the contact with the weapon.

"Attack me."

Will stared at Marcus in confusion.

"You said before that you wished to kill me.  Try."

Will stepped back, raised his sword, and brought it down in a vicious swing that should have taken the other man's head off.

Except for the fact that he pulled the swing short at the last moment, stumbling back in shock.  The man was his brother, a part of him, a necessary component of his survival, he couldn't kill him, how could Marcus ever believe he wanted to kill him . . .

Will whimpered as the thoughts and emotions scampered through his mind, leaving him feeling weak and disoriented.

"Maybe now you're starting to understand, brother."  Marcus pulled the younger blacksmith into a hug.  "Everything is all right.  Now come with me.  There's someone who wishes to see you."

Will nodded mutely, still struggling to separate his own thoughts and emotions from those that had flooded his mind as he attempted to kill Marcus.  He followed the other man blindly, vaguely aware that they were heading towards the entrance to the caverns.

They stopped outside the locked door of another small room.  Marcus quickly undid the bolts and gestured Will inside.

"Papa!"  Will stopped dead at the sight of his daughter huddled in the far corner of the room, her hair and clothes filthy.

A portion of him rejoiced at seeing his daughter alive and relatively unharmed, a portion that wished to open his arms and call her to him and take her away from this terrible place forever.

Another portion of his being, foreign but strong, hissed in silent anger and fury at the girl's presence.  The girl was a danger to the brotherhood—she knew where they were, part of what they were, who he was.  She needed to be gotten rid of, and quickly . . .

Will felt the hand that held Nerla twitch eagerly.

"No . . ."  The word was whispered but forceful.  He would not kill his own daughter.

The girl launched herself suddenly at his legs, clutching them with grimy fingers as she buried her head in the fabric.

"Papa, I was so scared, but I knew that you would save me, 'cause you're a hero, and I want to go home, papa, please!"

Will felt his breathing quicken as his love for his daughter and his sword-bound duty to the brotherhood fought within his mind.

"Get away from me."  The words were harsher than he had intended them to be, but they helped to siphon off some of the continually building anger, rage and fear that the sight of the child irrationally brought.

The girl stepped back in shock, her eyes wide with fright and fear.

"Papa . . .?"

"Back away from me, Ana."  He spoke through clenched teeth, his entire body trembling.

The girl rushed back to the corner, tears beginning to flow from her eyes.

Will took a step towards her, the blade rising slightly.

"No."  He turned and lurched out the door, clutching at his chest where pain had begun to throb again.  Marcus supported him as his knees gave way.

"Easy, lad, easy."

"You're going to make me kill my own daughter."  Will could hardly speak the words.

"I'm not making you do anything, Will.  You're sword-bound to protect us, and that includes protecting yourself from any outside influence.  I killed my commander, a man that I respected, to protect my brother.  Daniel killed his blood brother."

"Why didn't you just kill her before?"  Will found that he was able to stand again without assistance.

"You claimed her as family.  We can't kill a brother's family.  If you're ever near someone that we claim as family, you'll understand.  To raise a sword to a brother's family is to buy pain and sorrow for a long, long time.  The blessing of family was heavily bought by the maker of the brotherhood, and heavily respected by those who are in it.  Besides, the brother will take care of the problem for us."

"I'll never kill my daughter.  I won't ever see her again, if that's what it takes."

"The thought of her will haunt you until you deal with her, Will.  It's only a matter of time."

Will stood back and removed his hand from his chest before deliberately sheathing Nerla, fighting the urge to keep his hand on the hilt of the sword.

"Never, Marcus.  I'll never kill my daughter."

Will walked back the way that they had come, fairly certain that he would get lost but trusting that someone would find him before he wondered for too long . . .

Or maybe the bloody sword would tell him where to go.

Marcus watched him, a small frown on his face.

"A core of iron . . ."

He had seen what Will apparently had not—small crimson stains on the fabric above where Marcus had stabbed the young man.

An injury that should have left no scar was still bleeding after nearly twenty-four hours.

Marcus ran his hand along the hilt of Carsa for comfort.

"A core of iron, indeed."


	10. Chapter 10: Waiting for Darkness

Disclaimer:  When you start unconsciously imitating motions and speech patterns/accents of characters, you should be able to claim at least a small amount of ownership . . .

AN:  Please keep reviewing.  I do try to listen to what people say, and it makes the day much happier when I check the e-mail and someone has written a happy, or a happy-but-this-should-be-fixed, or even a not-happy review, because it means something is going right in this bloody gods-cursed world (bg-cw has been my phrase for the past two years).  Okay, now that I'm done shamelessly asking for reviews, thanks to those who are!  It might be just my imagination, but I think that it's far easier to guess what's going to happen next in this story than in AToM.  Opinions?  Which do you guys like better so far?

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 10**

"Jack, you said you weren't going to do anything stupid!"

Jack swung around to face Ana-Maria.  "This is not stupid.  I have thought about this and this is intelligent.  I'll not waste men's lives and I'll not risk another mutiny."

"They're your men!  It's their job to do what you tell them to!"

"They.  Are.  Pirates.  Remember?  'Ye shouldn't trust us' and all the rest?  They have no stake in this."

"They've come back for ye twice, Jack."

"They weren't risking their lives then for no obvious reward, and this crew isn't the same one I had eight years ago or even five years ago.  We've lost good men.  You know that.  I try to find good men, a commodity that are in decided low stock at Tortuga, but they're still all pirates.  Besides, I'm not going to fight them.  Just slip in, find Will and Ana, and slip out.  No big problem."

"No big problem?!  Jack Sparrow, you told me you'd be careful!  Facing unkillable things alone is not my definition of being careful!"

"I'm not going to _face_ them, I'm going to _avoid_ them.  And they can be killed, it's just not very easy to do it."

"Jack . . ."

The pirate captain ignored her, swinging back around to continue his walk across the deck, only to find himself face-to-face with another angry woman.

"Jack Sparrow, you are not leaving me on this ship while you go off to get yourself killed!"

"Damn it, Gibbs was right!  Women on board are bad luck!  Will you both just shut up!  I am not going to get myself killed!  I rather _enjoy_ living, you know!"

"You could have fooled me!"  Both women responded at the same time.

"All right."  Jack turned around so he was facing Ana-Maria.  "You, _you're_ supposed to keep my ship safe for me!"  He turned around again to face Elizabeth, dressed in a worn white shirt and brown trousers, the sword she had taken from Port Royal strapped at her side.  "And you, _you're_ supposed to keep that demon that Will named after me from destroying my ship!  Both of these responsibilities require that you be _on_ said ship!"

Before either woman could answer him, a small hand closed on his wrist and drew Jack's attention downwards.

"Uncle Jacky, my sister is over there."  The boy's eyes were wide as he pointed towards the island, a shadowy blotch off the starboard side of the ship.

Jack stared between the boy and Elizabeth.  Elizabeth stared right back at him, confusion written across her face.  Jack knelt down so that he was eye-to-eye with the child.

"How do you know that?"  The boy stared at him.  "Son, how do you know that your sister is over there?"

The boy stepped back, confusion and misery evident on his face.  His voice was a mere whisper when he spoke again.

"I don't know, Uncle Jacky.  I can feel her, but she's scared.  If you really are a good man, you need to help her."

"I'm planning on helping her.  Do you know exactly where she is?  What about your father?  Can you . . .feel . . .him?"

The boy shook his head, his brown hair falling into his eyes.

Jack pushed the stray locks back behind the child's ears.  "That's all right, Jack.  Are you certain that you're really feeling your sister?  That you're not just hoping that she's here?"

"I feel her, Uncle Jacky.  She's there and she's scared.  Help her."  The boy shivered.

"I will.  I promise."  Jack stood again.

"Uncle Jacky."  Jack looked down.  "I'm not a demon."  That said, the boy skittered away.  Jack shook his head and prayed that the thrill of almost being reunited with his sister would keep the boy out of the rigging before turning back to Elizabeth.

"Has he ever . . .felt . . .Ana before?"

"I don't know.  They've never really been separated for long periods of time.  If he has, he hasn't spoken to me about it, and neither has Ana."

"Could it be whatever magic they use that the boy's sensing?  After all, both his father and his mother were touched by the Aztec curse."

"I don't know, Jack."

"If he could tell us exactly where the girl is, Will shouldn't be very far away from her."  Jack paused a moment and shook his head.  "No, I won't risk the life of a child."

"I'm still coming with you, Jack."  Elizabeth planted herself firmly in his path.

"As am I."  Ana-Maria clapped her hand on his shoulder.  "There're others on board that you trust with your ship, Jack."

"Captain, love, and I really regret letting you two on board."

"Regret it all you want, Jack, it won't make us go away.  Now explain how this _small group_ is going to slip onto the island, carefully avoid the raiders, find Turner and his child, and slip out again without anybody losing anything important, such as their life."

Jack grinned at Ana-Maria.  "You already seem to understand it all."

Ana-Maria just stared at him in shock.

"Maybe we _should_ take Jack . . ."

The pirate captain swung around to face Elizabeth.  "I thought it was previously understood that I was going."

"Not you, my son."

"I thought that's what you meant, I was just trying to convince myself that I'd misunderstood.  You'd risk your son?"

"_You_ said it wouldn't be very risky.  If he can help us find Ana quickly, then it would cut down on the risk.  Besides, if we don't make it back, what is your crew going to do with a five-year-old that drives them insane at every opportunity he gets?  I'd rather have him with me."

"And I'd rather have the both of you in relative safety on the _Pearl_, but no one seems to be listening to the captain at the moment!"

"If the captain would act more mature than my five-year-old, maybe we would."

Jack decided that silence was the best tactic to use now.

"So, the four of us row ashore.  The _Pearl_ stays back here, out of sight.  We've already determined that they don't stay on their ship due to the fact that no one has been on or off it for the past seven hours.  So we look for a base on land, and by God's grace may it be above ground.  I really hate caves."

Elizabeth trailed off.

"Don't you want to continue?  You're doing very well.  In fact, I think you'd make a better taxicion . . .talmician . . ."

Elizabeth smiled.  "Tactician, Jack?"

"Right, a better tactician than most members of the Royal Navy."

"I think that's a compliment.  So we find their base, we somehow get into it, little Jack hopefully leads us to Ana, we rescue her, look around for Will, rescue him, and then sneak out again.  That's your brilliant plan?"

Jack tilted his head to the side and considered.  "Yes, I'd say that's just about everything, except for the fact that I still think it should be _one_ person, not _four_."

Ana-Maria shook her head.  "We're well aware of that, Jack.  We're just ignoring the fact for the moment."

"Well, then, let's go ignore me over supper while we wait for it to get dark so that we can complete this rescue mission and be on our way.  Of course, only if it's all right with you . . .ladies."

The two women laughed, easing the tension that had been steadily growing aboard the _Pearl_ since she reached spotting-distance of the island lair about two hours after dawn.  Jack took one on each arm and led them towards his cabin, barking orders over his shoulder to those crewmen within range.

Edward, a rather young man that Jack had added to the crew two years before, grinned and saluted, an action that Jack had never seen him perform before.  

"Aye-aye . . .Uncle Jacky."

Jack scowled at him as the two women burst out laughing.

He was going to have to have a very, very serious discussion about proper nicknames for pirates with Will after he was done rescuing the lad.


	11. Chapter 11: A Rescue and Two Choices

Disclaimer:  By the reasoning of my last disclaimer, I own small portions of the following people due to the fact that I frighten my dad by unconsciously copying their accents, key phrases and head movements, but nobody inform the lawyers, please: Apollo (Battlestar Galactica), Grissom (CSI), Aragorn (LotR), Pippin (LotR), Peter (KF: TLC), Kermit (KF: TLC), Scott (X-Men), Logan (X-Men), Ororo (X-Men), Luke (Star Wars), Han (Star Wars), Leia (Star Wars) . . .The list will continue at a later date unless people are annoyed by it.

AN:  God hates me.  Really, he does.  I guess he's decided that there isn't much more that he can do to my family at the moment, so he's turned to my few possessions.  I have a bookmark collection.  Correction.  Better get used to saying _had_ a bookmark collection.  I am also addicted to caffeine.  I keep my bookmark collection on my desk.  I made the mistake of putting my current can of Coke down on said desk while I looked for clothes to wear for my senior pics.  I then answer my mom's bellow for help in defrosting the freezers.  When I return to my room, evil cat—cat, mind you, supposedly the most agile of creatures—is jumping at the window above my desk.  What remained in my Coke is soaking all over my bookmark collection.  The only thing that saved evil cat from immediate transformation into dead cat was the fact that a) she runs faster than I do and can fit into smaller spaces and b) my LotR's bookmarks were currently in use in books, so none of them were injured.  The entire rest of my collection is now sandwiched between paper towels which are sandwiched between the yearbooks for Funk and Wagnall's New Encyclopedia which have the rest of the encyclopedia sitting on top of them which are capped by all other books that I could find in my room, including all the library books with the LotR's bookmarks, in the hopes that some of my bookmarks might be salvageable.  Ha ha.  I told my mother and _her_ very caring response is, "You shouldn't have soda in your room."  That is why I am rambling on here and probably both boring and annoying all my readers.  Okay.  Continuing on to the plot.  By the way, thanks for reviews.

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 11**

Jack slowly tilted his head around until the raider was within his line of sight again while most of his body was still shielded by the rocks that lined the edges of the cliffs near the cave entrance.  The night itself, split by the intermittent light of a half-moon as it danced behind clouds, offered a further impenetrable blanket of anonymity . . .or so he hoped.

The raider continued to scan the area in front of him, both land and sea, apparently watching for any ships to enter the natural harbor that had formed at this end of the island.  No guards had been set on the far side of the island, where Jack and his small party had landed, more than likely because no large ship could come anywhere near shore.  The pirate was almost surprised that they had made it to shore, boy and all.

That wasn't entirely fair, though.  Since telling them that his sister was on the island, the boy had behaved himself splendidly, and Jack had made certain that he understood exactly what the rescue mission entailed from him—silence until he was spoken to if he wished to have his father and his sister back.

The raider looked impatiently into the cave entrance behind him, apparently waiting to be relieved.  That would never do.  Men were always more awake at the beginning of a watch.

Jack pulled his head back and motioned for the people behind him to stay put before slipping as cautiously as he could around the rock and towards the raider.

All he needed was time for one good shot at the man's neck . . .

Jack swept his sword into the arc, preparing his arms for the jolt as the sword struck flesh and bone . . .a jolt that never came.

  
He cursed quietly as the clang of metal striking metal rang on the air.  The raider growled at him before disengaging his blade and moving into a flurry of attacks that Jack parried quickly.

Jack grinned at the man, moving into his own attack, watching carefully for an opening that would allow him to sever the man's neck, listening all the while for the sound of the relief that the sentry had been waiting for.

Stepping forward, the pirate slashed his blade across his opponent's sword arm before reversing the swing in an attempt at the neck.  Pain seared across the pirate's upper right arm, informing him in no uncertain terms that his gambit had failed.

Jack yelped in surprise and shock as the sting of the blade turned to a burning sensation that quickly engulfed his entire arm and shoulder.  No wonder Elizabeth had seemed so shaky after being cut by one of their weapons.  It was just as bad as when Almorte had cut him with his own sword after heating it until the metal glowed red-hot.  The thought of poison on the blades entered Jack's mind, but he quickly shoved it away as the raider pressed his advantage, forcing the pirate captain to retreat.

Jack felt the edge of the rock graze his back as the raider bore down on him again, nearly knocking the sword from the pirate's hand with the force of his blows.  The pirate needed a chance to back away, to switch his sword to his other hand, but he wasn't getting a chance to do much of anything save keep himself from getting cut again.  His arm throbbed with each beat of his heart.

He stared in shock as the raider's head separated itself from the man's body seemingly of its own volition.  His eyes followed both as they crumpled to the ground.  Looking back up, he grinned at Ana-Maria as she wiped the edge of her blade on her pant leg.

"Took you long enough, love."

"I thought you didn't need any help, Jack.  This was a one-person job, remember?"

Jack's knees decided that it was time to sit down before he could think of a comeback.

Ana-Maria was at his side in an instant, pulling his jacket down and ripping his shirt away from the wound.  "Oh, Jesus and Mary, you said you'd be careful."

"I was careful."

Elizabeth appeared over Ana-Maria's shoulder, the boy standing at her side.  "What's wrong?"

"I don't know.  It doesn't look like poison—no swelling, no red lines snaking out, no smell."

"'T burns . . ."  Jack winced as Ana-Maria prodded at the wound gently.  She turned to Elizabeth.

"What did it feel like when you were cut?"

"Odd.  It burned some, I guess, but not so badly that I couldn't ignore it."

"Maybe because this is their home and they're closer together than in the raid . . ."

"Or maybe they've got themselves a stronger member.  We have to keep going.  We won't get another chance."  Jack struggled back to his feet.

"You can barely walk.  This is suicide, Jack.  If you're right, then Jacob was right, and we can't help him anymore.  Let it go."

"There's still the girl.  Lad, can you still feel her?  Your sister?  Can you lead us there?"

The boy stared from his mother to the pirate captain before nodding.

"Then let's go.  Help me drag this guy out of the way—someone grab his head.  We don't have much time."  Jack moved to follow his own words only to be shoved back down by the two women.

"Rest while you can.  There'll be more of them, I'm sure."  Ana-Maria grabbed the body by the legs and quickly moved it out of sight.  Elizabeth followed, dangling the man's still-dripping head by its hair about a foot in front of her.

Within two minutes the small group had entered the caves, amazed that no one had come to investigate yet, and were following the small boy as he hesitated at each branching of the passageway before choosing his path.  Jack fell back to the rear, holding his right arm close against his side, his sword grasped in his left hand.

Fifteen tension-filled minutes later, the boy stopped in front of a bolted door.

The small boy knelt and attempted to peer through the crack between the door and the floor.  "Ana?  Anny?  It's Jack."

Scuffling sounds came from within the cell.

"Ana, I'm here to rescue you.  I brought Mama and Aunt Ana-Maria and Uncle Jacky."

Jack found himself smiling at the pride in the boy's voice.

"Jack?  Jack, is that really you?"  The girl's voice was incredibly soft and tear-choked.

Elizabeth wasted no more time in opening the door and rushing to her daughter.

"Mama!  Mama!  Jack!"  The girl held as tightly as she could to her family, tears flowing from her brown eyes.

"Hush, baby, it's okay, mama's here.  Ana . . ."  Elizabeth pulled away slightly so she could look her daughter in the eye.  "Ana, this is important.  Have you seen your father?"

The girl cried harder.  "He told me to go away.  He told me to keep away from him."  Elizabeth held the girl close again, her own heart filling with a mix of despair, rage and grief.  The man she had fallen in love with would never have said such a thing to their daughter.  Whatever he was now, he was no longer her Will.

Jack felt his fingers tighten on the hilt of his sword . . .the sword Will had made for him.

_Fit for a king and given freely to a pirate.  I didn't deserve it, Will.  I still don't._

_You do deserve it, Jack.  I made it for you, and that's all the proof you should need that you deserve it._

Jack spoke quietly.  "What did he look like?"

The girl stared at the pirate, a puzzled expression on her face.  "Like Papa."

"Did he seem . . .different?"

"He talked to himself.  He kept saying 'no'.  He looked sort of sick when he left, and there were red spots on his shirt right . . .here."  The girl pointed to a spot nearly directly above her heart.

The burning in his arm increased and the pirate leaned against the wall until the threat of falling unconscious had passed.

He looked sick . . .did that mean that Will was fighting . . .whatever they had done to him?

The sound of footsteps and yelling echoed faintly down the corridor.  The three adults stared at one another for a moment before Elizabeth and Ana-Maria each grabbed a child and bolted out the door to the cell, retracing their steps to the entrance.

Jack followed for a few feet, slowed, stopped, and turned to look back down the corridor.

"Jack, come on!  Jack, he's gone!"  Ana-Maria hissed the words in a whisper that still carried to the pirate.  "You promised me that you'd survive!"

"Go on, love.  I can't keep up with you.  Take the children and get out of here.  I'll distract them, and if I can I'll meet you later."

"Jack, please . . ."

"Uncle Jacky, come."  The boy motioned from his perch in the female pirate's arms.

"I can't, lad.  There's still someone else that I owe.  Now run, before we're all caught.  That would definitely not make this night any happier."

The sound of voices was now echoing through the corridor along with the footsteps.

The female pirate hesitated a moment longer.  "Good luck, Jack."  Ana-Maria turned and sprinted after Elizabeth, who was waiting further along the dimly lit corridor.

Jack watched them disappear before turning to search for his own spot to wait in.  He had every intention of rejoining Ana-Maria and the Turner family later.

He just wanted them to be prepared if he couldn't.

                                    *                                   *                                   *

Will slumped back in the chair, watching the rest of men . . .

_Your brothers_ . . .Nerla hissed in his mind.

The rest of the men drink, eat, and play cards in the same room where he had been stabbed, now filled with tables and chairs.  Several of the groups had offered to let him join, but he had politely declined.  He would rather watch than participate, though he would actually rather not watch at all, but every time he went to leave the room the bloody sword would start talking again.

Marcus was wrong.  He would never get used to a sword that read his thoughts and responded, usually with advice to do the exact opposite of what Will wished.

He could name more of the raiders now.  Marcus, Daniel, Aaron, Paul, Stefan and James played cards at one end of the room.  Jason, Gregory, Alex and Francis played at the other end.  Coram was passed out by the wall between the two poles where Will had been suspended, a bottle of rum still clutched in one hand.  Gilbert was on guard duty, watching for any ships that might have been giving chase, and Ralph was supposed to relieve him soon, though it seemed unlikely, as the man was getting incredibly drunk with Dean at the moment.  Will wondered vaguely if the curse . . .

_Blessing_ . . .

Would keep them from getting a hangover tomorrow.  He waited a few heartbeats, but Nerla didn't answer, and he relaxed even more.

Suddenly Will doubled over as pain exploded throughout his body again, moving from his neck through his chest and head.  He was vaguely aware of men cursing and crying out as he struggled to breath.

A heavy hand clamped on his shoulder, hauling him back into a seated position.

"Easy, lad, breath.  That's it."  Will drew quick, shuddering breaths as the pain eased somewhat.

"What's happening?"

"Someone's on the island.  They've killed Gilbert."

Will stared up at the man, who was pale and shaking.  "How do you know?"

"I've felt this before, brother.  It never gets easier, but you can work around it, and it's better during the raids, when blood's running high."

Pain still beat in a steady throb through Will's head, neck and chest.

  
"When's it stop hurting?"

"When we replace him.  Come on, lad.  We need to go see what's happening."

Will stood and shook himself, realizing that he and Marcus were the only two left in the room.  He sprinted after the once-soldier as the man led the way towards the entrance.

They found the rest of the brotherhood milling in a circle not far from the cell where Ana was being held, swords drawn, cursing a figure in the center that Will couldn't see clearly through the press of bodies.  He followed Marcus as the big man shoved his way to the front of the crowd and stopped in shock as he identified the man.

The pirate held his sword in his left hand, his right clenched tightly to his body, the sleeve of his jacket shiny with a liquid that could only be blood.  His hat had fallen off, displaying the red bandana that he wore over his beaded hair.  He grinned fiercely as he turned in a circle, lashing out at anyone that came too close, but Will could see the tension in his body and the slight trembling that displayed both exhaustion and trepidation, as the pirate would never admit to being afraid.

"Gentle now, brothers, we need him alive."

Will stared at Marcus in alarm.  They were going to take Jack Sparrow, the man who valued his freedom so highly that he was practically married to his ship and refused to accept a letter of marque, and they were going to turn him into a monster like them?  They would do to him as they had done to Will himself, so that even the pirate's thoughts wouldn't be entirely his own?

No.  Will had bought the pirate's freedom twice and his sanity once.  He would see him dead before he allowed that to happen.  Jack was a friend, a good friend, but after all they had been through with Barbosa, Almorte, and just normal life in the past eight years, he was so much more than that.

Jack was family.

"Family."  Will whispered the word once, testing Nerla's reaction.  Receiving none, he grabbed Marcus's shoulder and yelled the word so that all of the brotherhood could hear.  "Family!  He's family.  He belongs to me."

Marcus turned to him, a frown on his face, and nodded briefly before stepping back into the circle.  On the other side of the circle, Daniel moved to step forward, his mouth opening as if in protest, but someone held him back.

Jack stared at Will, his dark eyes questioning, searching for answers.  Will stared back, waiting, waiting . . .

Nerla was in his hand quicker than he would have believed humanly possible.  Staring at the pirate, Will hissed in wordless rage and anger.  The man had invaded their home, killed a brother, threatened more of them, still brandished a sword despite the fact that he had no chance of winning, and sought to draw Will away from his rightful place.

For those transgressions, he would die.

The loose circle opened as Will attacked, the brotherhood watching silently, awaiting the outcome of the final test of their new member, already knowing what it would be.

Within minutes, Will Turner would be completely and totally theirs.

End Note:

Don't be chronologically confused.  The Will part of the chapter partially overlaps the Jack part of the chapter, I just didn't feel like making them two chapters.  The brotherhood feels Gilbert die when Ana-Maria cuts his head off, it just takes a bit for them to get over it, figure out where to go, and finally catch Jack.

Response to Common Review Questions:

When Marcus keeps saying 'core of iron', he means that Will's spirit is incredibly strong.  Will still hasn't completely accepted Nerla, but he's close enough to it that the sword can heal him as well as control him to a large degree by tying him to the brotherhood and otherwise invading his mind.  If he completely accepts the sword, it will become more of a symbiotic relationship than a possession, but most of what makes him Will would be lost, which is considered a bad thing.

Marcus is one of the original brotherhood, and he _had _a family, but he hasn't seen them since before he went to India.

The curse is all mine.


	12. Chapter 12: Worthy

Disclaimer:  No one said stop, so here's the rest of the vocals: Mulder (X-Files), Duncan (Highlander), Connor (Highlander), Roland (Gunslinger novels), Alissa (my story), Jaina (my story), Peter (my story), Travis (my story), Analis (my story), and Tristen (Cherryh's Fortress novels).  There is only one character ever that instead of copying accents/speech patterns/key phrases, I've found myself copying hand movements, and that really frightens my dad.  No one could ever guess who that character might be . . .

AN:  I'm writing this very short chapter with two hours to go until it's time for my senior pics, which are all outside, and guess what it has decided to _do_ outside?  Water seems to be falling from the sky.  I am positive now that God really does hate me.  Once the fiasco with my pics are over, I will write and post a new chapter, and please don't throw any rocks at me—or any of my characters—until the story is closer to the end.

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 12**

Jack retreated, parrying the blows that Will threw at him as best he could.  The burning in his shoulder and arm had spread to his chest as the brotherhood had collected around him, but it eased slightly as their circle broke and scattered, and the small respite gave the pirate a chance to focus.

His mind still couldn't quite grasp that this was real.  He and Will usually had at least one duel each time the pirate appeared in Port Royal, a test of both their skills, and Jack had to force himself to remember that this time it wasn't a game.

  
This time Will seemed to be after his life.

_If the raiders took him alive, he's gone, Jack.  Even if you find him, he won't be the man you knew._

Will looked basically the same as the last time Jack had seen him, and while there were bloodstains on his shirt, the force of the blows convinced the pirate that he couldn't be too sick.

_Daniel turned towards Peter, yelled back at his companions 'family' . . .and proceeded to kill his brother._

Under any other circumstances, Jack supposed that he would have been honored to know that Will considered him a part of his family.  He would probably have replied with a sarcastic comment, but he would still have been honored.

Given the fact that these people apparently enjoyed killing their family, he could have done without the honor at the moment.

Will's sword swept down and cut a bloody trail across the pirate's left leg, directly above the knee.  Jack responded on instinct, bringing his own weapon into the opening the move created and slicing Will's left arm before limping backwards, the burning beginning to settle in his leg as well.

Both the pirate and the blacksmith stared in morbid fascination as the flesh quickly re-grew over the injury to Will's arm.

Will turned back to Jack, his mouth curled into a snarl that the pirate had never seen before.  "You were right.  You aren't worthy of that blade."

Jack stepped backwards again, supporting as much of his weight on his right leg as he could.  His left arm was beginning to ache, and he wondered why he wasn't dead yet.

"You're not worthy of the blade, you're not worthy of my friendship and you're not worthy of life!  I should have let you die eight years ago."

The blacksmith punctuated each exclamation with a swing.  The words stung, but the actions were what confused the pirate most.  Given his current condition and the fact that he was fighting switch while Will was not, Jack knew that he should be dead.  Will wasn't using anything near his usual style and grace.

If his injuries and his eyes didn't tell him otherwise, Jack would have sworn that the lad didn't really want to hurt him.

_I was there, Jack Sparrow.  I saw his eyes.  It wasn't the same man that I had known._

Jack backed up a step and stared at Will's eyes, black pools with the thinnest rings of brown around them, searching for something that would tell him his friend was still inside.  He was forced to retreat again as Will attacked anew.

Jack leapt to the side to dodge a strike, nearly falling as his left leg buckled under the strain, raising his sword to parry a blow that came remarkably close to his neck.

_Peter wasn't a coward or a fool.  He fought back._

He fought back . . .

Jack was fighting back, and it wasn't doing him any good.  Maybe this was one of the rare times in his life when a blade or a bullet wasn't the proper way to handle things.

Jack scrambled backwards once more and tossed his sword at Will's feet.  He could see the rest of the broherhood inching closer, but he ignored them, focusing instead on Will, who stared between the pirate and the blade at his feet.

"Pick it up."

"No."  Jack locked eyes with the blacksmith, breathing hard, trying to ignore the burning in his arm and leg.

Will stepped closer to the pirate.

"I said pick it up, or would you rather die a coward, weaponless?"

"I'm no coward, and the man that I knew wasn't a cold-blooded murderer."

"I'm no longer the man that you knew, Jack Sparrow.  You should have seen that by now."  Will's sword came to rest on Jack's chest.

"Whatever you are now, I still owe you my life, my sanity.  If you want them, they're yours.  I can't fight you, Will Turner."

The pressure on the blade increased as Jack continued to stare into Will's eyes, hoping to see something besides rage and the desire to kill.

Moments passed that seemed like eternities.  Then Jack saw it . . .a flicker of doubt, of pain, of denial flashed across Will's face.  His breathing quickened as he dared to hope.

The shove from behind caught the pirate captain completely off guard.


	13. Chapter 13: Broken

Disclaimer:  I own the Brotherhood, the kids, and no one else, though considering how many times I pictured Will and Jack to get a 'real' smile for my senior pics, I think that I deserve to own a small portion of them . . .

AN:  I've decided that God doesn't hate me.  He just thinks I can take a lot more than I really can.  After I went outside and screamed at the sky (well, it was at God, but I was facing the sky), which was still dropping water on me, that it wasn't fair that my family life is screwed up, my possessions are getting ruined one by one, and that now even my senior things, which I have finally stopped procrastinating on, were getting ruined, it stopped.  I think I also convinced the neighbors that I'm a total nutter, but at least it made me feel better, the rain stopped and I was able to get my senior pics.

AN2:  Sorry I didn't post this last night.  A friend called, one who's life is even more screwed up than mine at the moment, and asked for safe haven, and I gave it to her.  Don't flip until you've read the entire chapter and stay tuned for more, which might come sooner or later depending on what sanctuary I need to offer.

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 13**

"No."  Will barely heard the word, his mind and body still tied to the sword and the brotherhood, but he knew he was the one who had spoken.

This wasn't supposed to happen.  He had been fighting.  The pirate had disarmed himself, robbing the sword-bond of one of its arguments for his death.

The pirate was Jack, a friend, a good friend, and Will didn't kill his friends.

Nerla pulsed eagerly, more an extension of his arm than a separate entity now, drinking in the blood that flowed over her.  Will could sense what she sensed, the heat of a warm body, the liquid wash of blood that pulsed strongly through the artery that she had sliced, the weakening throb of the heart less an inch below the blade.

Nerla was satisfied with the kill.  It wasn't as clean as it could have been, but it was a kill nonetheless.

"No!"  Will screamed his denial, separating his mind from the blade, staring through his human eyes at Jack Sparrow.  The pirate reached up to touch the blade where it had entered his chest and then looked at his fingers curiously, now dark red with blood.

"Oh, God, no."  Will pulled Nerla back, cringing at the sound of metal sliding through flesh.  Jack stood a moment more before his knees buckled and he collapsed, the entire front of his body now slick and dark with blood.  Will caught him before he hit the ground, vaguely aware of Nerla, still clutched in his right hand, pulsing behind the pirate's back.

Will placed his left hand over the injury in a hopeless attempt to stem the flow of blood.  "Jack, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I didn't mean to."

"Not . . .you.  You're . . .good lad . . .good man."  The pirate coughed and choked as blood began to flow from his mouth and nose with each shuddering breath.

"I didn't mean to.  I tried to stop it . . ."

The pirate raised one shaking, bloody hand to Will's mouth to hush him, leaning forward and whispering the words practically in his ear.  "I'm . . .a good . . .distraction."

The pirate coughed violently again before finally falling into unconsciousness.

Will continued to hold him until the shuddering breaths ceased and the pirate's body went completely limp.

_I'm a good distraction . . .I'm a good distraction . . .I'm a good distraction . . ._

The words kept playing through his mind, pushing at Will, forcing him to understand.  He realized that they could only have meant one thing.

Jack hadn't come alone.  Ana was safe.  His family was safe.  Jack had bartered his life for the life of Will's child.

"Congratulations . . ._brother_."

Will stared up at Daniel, standing a foot behind where the pirate captain had stood and sneering.  Still clutching Nerla, Will stood and faced the other man, his shirt dripping blood, streaks of drying crimson running across his face.

"I didn't get to choose.  You broke the rules."

"The 'rules' are to protect your brothers.  He's no blood of yours.  Every pirate in the Caribbean knows of Captain Jack Sparrow.  We also know he has no family."

"He has _my_ family.  He has me . . .and my wife . . and my children . . .and you had no right to interfere!"

Nerla pulsed angrily in his hand.  Will stared fixedly at the blade for a moment, red and sticky with the already-drying blood of his friend.

Then he screamed in inarticulate rage, despair, and grief.  Ignoring the pain that it brought to his head, chest, and hand, he hurled the blade at the rock wall, where it slid down to the ground.

For a moment nothing happened.  Then a primal wail sounded through the corridor and the sword split into three parts, one jagged crack separating the blade from the hilt while another split it into two unequal sections.

Will curled into a ball on the ground, pain filling every fiber of his being, and clutched at his chest as his own blood mingled with Jack's in what seemed to be a never-ending flow.

Light exploded behind his eyes, bright and pure, and he shuddered, accepting the fact that he was dying.

At least he was dying with a clean soul, free from Nerla.  Even meeting his maker with his friend's blood on his hands was better than meeting him with his soul attached to that monster.

The light faded and Will cracked his eyes open, surprised that death felt so very much like life.  Turning his head slowly, he realized that he was still in the home of the brotherhood.

Will sat up gingerly, one hand still clutched to his chest.  With trembling fingers, he opened his shirt, wondering what he would see.

A half-healed cut slashed its way horizontally across his chest, but there was no sign of where Marcus had stabbed him with Nerla.  Raising his hand to his lip, he felt a split in it where Daniel had slapped him.  A dull pounding in his arm told him that the cut that Jack had made was present again.

He was injured.  Injuries meant that he was alive . . .and truly mortal again.

Marcus's voice broke the stillness that had fallen over the brotherhood.  "Daniel, you bloody fool, you've destroyed us."

Daniel's face was pale and his voice shook.  "I don't understand.  I know that Sparrow has no blood relatives left.  They're all dead!  He has no family . . ."

"Not all family comes from blood, Daniel.  The gods apparently accept him as the lad's family . . .meaning that you had no right to interfere.  You didn't heal the brotherhood, Daniel.  You've destroyed it."

"What's happening to us?"  Will watched in morbid fascination as lines of blood appeared and began to drip from slashes on various parts of the once-pirate's body.

Marcus sat down, his back against the wall.  Will could see blood snaking it's way down the once-soldier's arms, and bloodstains were appearing on his shirt.  "Pull your sword, Daniel."

The panicking man attempted to do just that, grasping the hilt and tugging, but the blade was no longer attached.

Cries of pain and pleas for mercy told Will that the rest of the brotherhood was finding the same thing.

Daniel stared at the hilt for a moment before dropping it and sprinting back down the corridor.

"Oh, the jealous, bloody fool."

Will turned his full attention to Marcus, trying to ignore the cries of the rest of the brotherhood.

A jagged gash had appeared on the man's left cheek and another dripped blood into his eyes from his forehead, but he seemed to ignore both.

"I don't understand, Marcus."

"You broke it.  Daniel cheated you of your choice, even though it wasn't his blade that killed your friend.  The grace of the gods has fallen from the brotherhood.  We'll die, all of us, when the unmaking of the blessing gets back as far as the first piercing of our hearts, some even faster if someone struck them a mortal blow during one of the raids."

"Then why aren't I dead?"

"You still bore a scar.  You still didn't belong to us, not fully, and apparently they, or he, or she—"  Marcus gestured vaguely towards the ceiling.  "Didn't want your blood."  Blood began to drip steadily from the edge of the man's pant leg.

Will tore his eyes away from the sight.  "I'm sorry, Marcus.  You don't seem like such a bad man."

"I'm the worst type of man there is, lad.  I sold my soul for my life.  I betrayed my country, my friends, my family, everything that made me who I was when I was human.  Daniel hates you, lad, because he killed his brother, but you, you wouldn't kill your daughter, and you were fighting killing your friend.  You're by far the stronger and the better man.  Better than Daniel, better than me, better than most men that I've ever known."  Marcus placed a hand to his side, where the fabric was soaked through with blood.

"Tell that to Jack when you see him."  Will closed his eyes tightly, fighting back tears.

"Any friend of yours won't be going to the same place I am, lad.  Don't . . ."  Marcus stopped mid-sentence as blood suddenly poured in a crimson tide from his chest.  His eyes closed slowly and he smiled slightly before sinking back against the wall, completely limp.

Will realized that there were no longer any sounds at all in the corridor besides the ones that his own breathing and slight movements made.

He was in an underground labyrinth with two-dozen dead men, one of whom was a friend dead by his own hand, on an island god-only-knows where, with a ship that he couldn't sail by himself.

Something about the entire debacle suddenly struck him as hilarious and he laughed until the laughs turned to sobs, and then he cried until he couldn't cry anymore.

Finally collecting himself, he staggered upright on unsteady legs and moved back to where he had left Jack's body, grabbing Jack's sword off the floor as he went.

Kneeling next to the man, he gently picked up the man's ring-bedecked hand.

"You were more than worthy, friend.  Far more than worthy."

Will frowned.  The pirate's hand was still warm . . .not just warm, but hot, nearly as hot as it had been during the two weeks when he had tossed in delirium in Port Royal while his body fought the fever that had settled into the many wounds Almorte had inflicted on him.

Will knew that by now the body should have started cooling.

His fingers shaking again with a strange mixture of hope and despair, he leaned forward to pull the pirate's blood-soaked and stiffening shirt away from the site of the deathblow.


	14. Chapter 14: Rebirth

Disclaimer:  I now own twenty-three dead guys (the pictures on the wall keep insisting that the lawyers will flip if I claim Jack or Will), one broken curse, and two live children . . .or _are_ they alive?

AN:  This was originally supposed to go with the last chapter—I did _not_ mean to leave it on a cliffhanger like that one, though I note that the responses were . . .interesting.  Real life just reared its ugly head and interfered, in the form of offering sanctuary and having to cut those beach-noodle-things in half for a game for freshman orientation.

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 14**

Will closed his eyes, prolonging the moments when he could still hope, knowing in his head that the pirate was dead, still wishing in his heart that maybe, just maybe . . .

"It wasn't my choice . . ."  Will stared up at the ceiling, teeming with shadows, faint echoes of his voice bouncing back at him almost mockingly.

Oh, God, if he could have just one more miracle in his life . . .

Steeling himself, he looked down at the entrance wound, caked with dried, drying, and still-liquid blood.  Finding a not-too-bloody spot on his own shirt, he gently scraped away as much as he could . . .

And stared in open wonder, barely restraining his hand from reaching out to touch the pirate's chest, fearful of breaking whatever magic or curse or blessing or miracle it was that worked before him.

Fresh blood trickled from the wound as the tissue slowly re-grew, closing the injury from the inside out.

Perhaps it was just Nerla's work coming undone, leaving Will with a corpse that was cleansed of darkness's touch but still a corpse . . .

Or perhaps, just perhaps, it was more.

Will knelt by the pirate, clasping one of his limp, ring-bedecked hands gently, the warmth of the other man's flesh giving him a small measure of comfort, a connection at least to almost-life in the house of death.

Seconds passed slowly as more and more fresh blood seeped onto the pirate's chest, some of it falling onto Will's hands, before the stream slowed to a trickle and finally stopped again.

Will's shoulders slumped and his head dipped down in silent despair as no further action seemed to be forthcoming from the pirate captain.

A small hiss of indrawn air brought the blacksmith's head up sharply, but before he could think to move the pirate had already sprung to his feet, his left leg buckling and sending him down to the ground again, muttering a string of curses and pleas in broken English and at least one foreign language that Will didn't understand.

Will moved quickly in front of the pirate, grabbing his shoulder with one hand.

"Jack, it's all right now, it's all over, it's me, it's Will, really me, Jack, just me . . ."

The pirate continued to mutter to himself, his breathing almost too rapid for Will to follow, and Will's heart dropped.  Jack Sparrow always seemed to tread a fine line between sanity and insanity, and being killed by a friend and then resurrected probably wasn't the most stabilizing thing in the world.

Will placed his hands on either side of the pirate captain's face, locking his steady brown eyes on the pirate's panicked ones as he had seen Ana-Maria do when Jack was half-mad after Almorte had tortured him.

"Jack . . .it's all right.  It's over."

The pirate stared back at him, the panic and confusion dropping away slowly, and Will allowed his hands to fall as the pirate's breathing quieted to something closer to normal.

"You killed me."

Will looked down at the ground.  "You're not dead now."

The pirate stared at his blood-soaked clothes, feeling his chest but finding no evidence of the injury.  "You're right.  I'm not dead."  He stared back at Will.  "_Why_ am I not dead?"

"Because the pits of hell spat you back out?"

Both Will and Jack grinned, the tension easing somewhat.

"Seriously, lad, am I really still . . .me?  I'm not . . ."

"No, Jack.  Trust me, you would know if you were."

"And you're not . . ."

"Not anymore."

"Good.  Congratulations.  So, back to the major question.  Why am I still alive?"

"Marcus might have known, but . . ."  Will gestured towards the corpse propped against the wall.  "Will it make you feel better if I tell you that you _were_ dead for a good amount of time?"

"Not really."  The pirate stared straight ahead for a moment, his eyes unfocused, and Will felt his heart lurch again.

"Jack?"

The pirate refocused his gaze.  "Hmmm?  You really did stab me, then."

"Not exactly.  You kind of fell into my blade."

"You had the blade at my chest and your friend shoved me from behind."

"He wasn't my friend, and he died a rather bloody and horrible death for it, if that makes you feel better."

"Not exceptionally, though I suppose that it is justice, and it means he'll never get another chance to come after me."  The pirate was silent for a moment.  "What was his name?"

  
Will frowned, not sure why the pirate captain would want to know.  "Daniel."

Jack nodded and spoke softly to himself.  "Of course.  I'll have to send a note to Jacob."

"Jack, are you really all right?"

The pirate's mouth quirked into an expression halfway between a grin and a grimace.  "No, actually, I seem to be having problems walking since somebody decided that I wasn't worthy of the blade they gave me and used a cursed one to cut open my leg."

Will stared at the pirate, misery evident on his face.  "I tried not to, Jack.  I tried to fight Nerla, but it was so bloody hard . . ."

The pirate leaned forward and pulled the younger man into an embrace that Will returned wholeheartedly, determined that he wasn't going to cry again.

"I know you tried, Will.  I told ye that before . . .ye know . . ."  The pirate pulled away again and staggered upright, careful to place all his weight on his right leg.  "Now come on, lad, let's find my sword and my hat and get out of here and you can tell me the whole story as we determine how we're getting off this bloody island."

Will quickly picked the sword up and handed it to the pirate, who stared slowly between the dried blood on the blade and Will.

"Are you certain . . .?"

"You bought back my soul, Jack.  I couldn't have found a worthier man for the blade . . .or the friendship."

Jack nodded and attempted to rub the worst of the blood off the sword before sheathing it again.

"All right, one down and one to go.  We find my hat and we get out of here, savvy?"

"Savvy on the get out of here, Jack.  I'm not so certain about the hat."

Will held up what seemed to be several scraps of faded blue cloth loosely tied together and liberally sprinkled with blood.  Jack stared at it a moment, his head tilted to one side.

"Fine then.  We get out of here and you buy me a new hat."

The ghost of a smile played over Will's face.  "A bigger one, Jack?"

The pirate grinned.  "No, lad, not bigger.  Just like that one . . .or rather, just like that one _used_ to be."

"Fair enough.  Jack . . ."  Will half-feared to ask the question that had been on his mind.  "My family . . ."

"Safe on the _Pearl_, Will, and probably far away from this cursed place by now.  Let's go see what kind of sailing power we've got outside, shall we?"

Will nodded, pointing down the corridor in the direction that he thought led to outside.  Jack turned and started off down the corridor . . .or at least attempted to, his left leg buckling again.

"Y'know, if whoever—"  He gestured vaguely towards the ceiling, and Will found his eyes turning unwillingly towards where Marcus's bloody corpse still sat propped against the wall.  "Was going to heal my chest, they could have also fixed my leg and my arm, considering that all the damage was done by cursed blades."

"Would you rather they had you stay dead, Jack?  I know that I personally prefer injured and mortal to uninjured and possessed, and at least whoever had the decency to heal us this much."

Jack looked up sharply at Will's use of the word _us_.  "I'm sorry about your arm, Will."

"It's not too bad, Jack, and considering I was going for your neck, it's understandable."

The pirate nodded and again attempted to start down the corridor, staying upright only by using the wall as a support when his leg buckled again.

"Jack . . .lean on me?"  Will stepped towards the pirate, who seemed to oscillate a moment before finally nodding and half-stepping, half-falling into the blacksmith's strong hands.

Will drew the pirate's uninjured arm around his shoulder and supported the majority of his weight as they walked slowly away from the sight of their trial, skirting the bloody corpses of the brotherhood as they made their way towards the ship.


	15. Chapter 15: Found

Disclaimer:  I own zero percent of the imaginary money that was spent on the making of this movie, thus the lawyers insist that no matter what I cannot own them . . .

AN:  Thanks to reviewers.  Sorry it's taken so long to update.  Thing have been nutters around here, and then two friends and I had a get together and they introduced me to a new sport—tubing!  It's indescribable what it feels like to go tubing at 50 mph off the back of a speedboat when this is the first time that you've ever been on a speedboat (I kept telling them to crank up the speed and at 50 I flipped over and fell off the tube, which was also kind of fun in a my-back-will-never-be-the-same-again way).  It was a great way to relax and blow off steam, just as good as writing, which, for me, _is_ a form of relaxation.  This story is now nearing completion and no other plots are dancing in my head, so I think that I'll be taking a break unless someone can throw me a plot kernel, even just one scene, considering that's what started these last two.  Actually, I don't really want a break—I want a new plot!  In any category (that I know)!  I need to give my muses names so I can berate them when they're not working right, like now . . .

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 15**

Ana-Maria stalked cautiously through the dimly lit cavern, her sword in her right hand and a cocked pistol in her left.

She was taking no chances this time, a precaution that seemed extra wise after the state of the corpse that she had passed a moment before.

It had been a hellish wait on the _Pearl_, hoping for some signal from Jack while expecting the other ship to come after them at any moment.  No one had been set as a watch—it was a silent and worried crew that had formed a ragged and silent line of watchers.  The only thing that had broken the silence was Elizabeth berating young Jack for attempting to show his sister how to climb up into the rigging.

When over an hour had passed since she last saw Jack still no signs of life were visible either on the island or on the other ship, Ana-Maria had volunteered herself as a scout to see what was happening.

It had taken all of her diplomatic skills, which, granted, weren't all that amazing, to convince Elizabeth to stay behind on the _Pearl_ with her children while the female pirate went after Jack . . .and Will.  In the end it was only a mother's instinct and the threat to let the crew do whatever they wanted with young Jack while the two women were gone that had kept Elizabeth from following.

The _Pearl_ still stood, a barely discernable speck on the horizon, ready to run at the slightest sign of life on the raider's ship.  It wasn't quite breaking the code—after all, if Jack had, by some miracle, managed to survive and defeat the raiders, then anything in the underground catacombs was theirs for the taking.

If he hadn't, then Ana-Maria would see that he was rescued or put out of his misery.

If he were dead, she would see that he got a decent burial, on land or in the grips of his much-loved ocean.

She shifted her right shoulder, resettling the strap to the pack that rested gently against her left leg, containing bandages, some water, and rum.  He had already been hurt once that she knew of.  It really wouldn't surprise her much if he had gotten himself injured again.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor and she froze, searching for a place to hide and finding only the shadows that flickered along the walls.

A voice joined the footsteps, low but familiar, and singing a very familiar song.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  We pillage, we plunder, we . . .something da di."  A muffled grunt echoed down the hall.  "See, Jack, you're gone for a few months and I forget the words . . .or maybe Nerla didn't approve . . ."

No response seemed to be forthcoming, and Ana-Maria watched carefully as a figure staggered around the curve in the corridor.

If she were an overly superstitious woman, she probably would have bolted screaming 'ghosts' all the way back to the _Pearl_.  As it was, she seriously considered the action before stepping forward.

Will was coated in blood from his head to his feet, the smeared imprint of bloody fingers showing around his mouth and by his ear.  It was the body, also blood-soaked, that he held cradled in his arms that drew and held the female pirate's attention.

Her captain.  Her friend.

Supposedly Will's friend.

Ana-Maria stepped forward out of the shadows and approached Will, aiming the pistol at his head.  "What have you done?"

Will froze, his features shifting between disbelief, confusion, fear, and acceptance faster than Ana-Maria would have believed possible.

"This really isn't what it looks like, and it's not my fault.  Well, it is my fault, but I fixed it."  Ana-Maria continued to stare at him, her finger on the trigger, and Will gently shook the body that he held, never breaking eye contact with the woman.  "Now would be a really opportune time to come around, Jack."

"He's still alive?  Whose blood is that, then?  Yours?  Are you one of them?"

"'Them' are all dead, and the blood is mine and his, but it's not as bad as it seems, Ana-Maria.  We were just trying to get out of here and he hit his arm on the wall and between that and the fact that he's been bleeding all over me because I don't have anything that isn't blood-soaked to bind his wounds with it was goodnight for the pirate but he should be coming around soon and please, please, please don't shoot me.  It would really put a damper on the day if I win back my soul, have my friend resurrected, and then get shot by another friend because Jack and I are both clumsy in the dark, or the almost-dark, or we're both easily distracted by gruesome and bloody death."

Pirate and blacksmith locked eyes for a moment before she un-cocked the gun and placed it firmly in her belt.  Her sword was in its sheath a moment later.

"Set him down.  I've got bandages."

Will quickly did as he was told, wincing in pain as the injury to his arm stretched further and fresh blood trickled down his already-sodden sleeve.

"You're hurt as well.  Sit down."  Ana-Maria turned back to her captain, who was, indeed, breathing.  "If all this blood truly does belong to the two of ye, ye should both be dead."

"It's a long story.  Bind his leg first.  That's the deepest injury."

Ana-Maria quickly moved her hands from pulling his blood-encrusted shirt away from the arm wound to pulling his equally bloody trousers away from the jagged slash above his knee.  "And who gave him this?"

"I did, but I didn't mean to.  Well, I did, but I didn't."  Will laughed softly and Ana-Maria looked up, worry evident in her eyes.  "Like I said, it's a long story."

Ana-Maria nodded and quickly slid the strap from around her neck and pulled a canteen of relatively clean water from within the pack that she used to wash away the blood so she could see the wound before wrapping it tightly with a clean white cloth.  Almost immediately a spreading bloodstain began to grow on the white fabric.

As she turned her attention to the cut on Jack's shoulder, a hand closed around hers, the grip firm and strong.

"I thought I told ye to run."

"You didn't specify how far."

"Whatever happened to following the code?"

"They're more like guidelines, and if the raider's really are dead, than anything they have stashed on their ship or in these caves belongs to the _Pearl_.  The crew finds that recompense enough for retrieving a captain that they rather respect."

"What about Elizabeth?"

"Dying of worry on board because I wouldn't allow her to come.  She has both children, though, so I think she'll be all right until we get back.  What exactly happened to you two?"

Jack looked to Will, who shrugged and motioned for Jack to proceed.

"Well, Will was possessed by a sword that tied him to these people and made it so he couldn't get hurt—scratch that, killed, it could still hurt but it healed—and as part of this possession thing he was driven to kill his family.  He decided I was family and was trying to kill me when I came up with the brilliant idea of throwing down my sword—after he cut open my leg, of course.  Then he's standing with a sword at my chest trying to decide what to do when I'm shoved from behind and I'm sure you can guess what that meant.  Only he didn't get a choice in killing me, so they violated a rule of the curse or blessing or whatever so that the gods set Will free when he handed in his resignation by tossing his talking, possessed sword at the wall, at which point they reopened the wound on his chest and he bled a lot but he apparently didn't die.  The rest of the brotherhood bled a lot and they _did_ die.  Then Will comes to see me, who is currently dead, only to find the gods apparently have a sense of justice—I'm betting it was Shiva—and they're healing my chest.  Then I'm alive, he's alive, and we're limping along towards the exit when the brilliant lad trips and rams me into a wall, where all my weight lands on that bloody cut and the rest, I believe, you know."

Ana-Maria stared between the two men for a moment, unable to think of anything to say.

She pointed at Will.  "You were possessed."  He nodded.

She pointed at Jack.  "You threw down your sword, _despite_ the fact that you promised to survive, so you were dead."

Jack opened his mouth as if to argue, closed it again at the look on her face, and nodded reluctantly.

"Then you're un-possessed and by becoming un-possessed you bring him back to life."

Both men nodded slowly.

Ana-Maria laughed softly as she finished binding Jack's arm and turned to look at Will's.  "I want to be there when you try to explain all of this to Elizabeth."

The two men stared at each other before answering in unison.

"I don't."  Ana-Maria laughed again as she finished wrapping Jack's arm.

"Ye wouldn't have happened to have brought something to drink, would ye?"  Ana-Maria smiled as she tossed Jack the canteen filled with rum before turning her attention to Will's arm.

"You two make a fine pair here.  You've one good arm each, and opposite ones at that."  Will winced as she pulled the bandage tight around his arm.  Jack merely shrugged expressively before handing the rum to Will, who promptly returned it to Ana-Maria's pouch.  Ana-Maria grinned at the look on Jack's face.  "Come on.  I believe we've kept Elizabeth waiting long enough."

Will nodded and stood, turning to give the pirate captain a hand up only to find that he was already standing, albeit unsteadily.

"Are we going to do this whole thing again, Jack, or will you just let us help you?"

"I was planning on letting you help me.  I just don't want to have help getting onto my own ship, which means I'll need to be able to at least stand by myself."

"Stop being paranoid, Captain.  The crew doesn't think that you're weak, and it's quite understandable not being able to walk quite right when ye've got a nice long gash above a rather important joint in your leg.  Now come on.  Lean on me."

Will found himself gently maneuvered aside as the female pirate took Jack's left arm around her shoulder and expertly guided his lean frame, showing no signs of stress from the weight that he was putting on her.  Will wondered if she had done this before, and, if so, how many times.

"Come on, Will.  Yer families waiting for you, and there's a little girl that's going to be very happy to have her father truly back with her."

"Ana . . .oh, God, she must hate me after what I said to her . . ."

Ana-Maria looked back at him sharply.  "No, William Turner.  She loves you.  She misses you.  She wants her father back."

"He is back . . .thanks to a friend."  Will smiled at Jack, who grinned back toothily as he continued to limp forward.

"No problem, Will.  No problem at all.  By the way . . .we're even now."

Will nodded.  "We're even, Jack."

The pirate returned his attention to walking, singing under his breath, and Will grinned at the back of his head.

Aye, they were even, but they had been even for a long, long time now, and Will knew that it wouldn't change anything.  Jack would continue to be Jack, Will would still be Will, Elizabeth would still be Elizabeth . . .

Only the children would change, and Will knew that his children would need a real home if the changes were to be what he wished to see.  No matter how good a man Jack was, he was still a pirate, and a pirate ship was no place for children . . .

Will shoved the thought from his mind.  He would decide what to do later.  Enough had happened today.  All he really wanted now was to see his family, to start the healing that they all desperately needed . . .

Everything else could wait.


	16. Chapter 16: Counselors

Disclaimer:  Pointless.  This is pointless.  I spent the last of my money to buy my brother's BK for lunch while my friend, who was staying on for a while, bought them DQ, and then after we were both frazzled at 8:30 from applying-to-college junk we counted change and found we had just barely enough to go see 'Pirates' again—my fourth time, her second.  That means if anyone sues, I have absolutely no money for them to win!

AN:  I have absolutely no money.  'Two Towers' comes out in one week.  *Tears house apart looking for change*  I can't buy it!  Wait, this could be a good thing.  If we have no money to buy it when it comes out, we have to wait until we have money and buy it when the extended version comes out, right?  Good, now if only I could find my SAT scores the world would be extremely good.  They were on my desk at one point in time, but so was all my biomed stuff, and it has vanished, so I'm hoping that if I find one vanished item I'll find the other, more important SAT and ACT scores.  Yeah.  Anyways, this story is fast approaching an end, and a new story is not yet in any shape to begin putting pen to paper with, but maybe it'll form into something soon.  There's always hope . . .no, wait, Tolkien had him decide to lie down and die.  I always hated that part of the appendixes—the rest of the tale was cool, just not the dying part, though it would be kind of morbidly neat to be able to decide one morning that you want to die and then have it happen in a nice, calm, no-blood-loss way.  All right, rambling about the wrong fandom there . . .can you tell I'm excited about TT coming out, even though Jackson murdered the plot?  Focus, EstelWolfe, focus.  Finish nice 'Pirates' fic.  Then start another fic, if kind muses will give you one.

**Trust Me Still**

**Part 16**

Jack stood at the bow of his ship, acutely aware for the first time in a long time of how much work it took to roll with the motion of the ship.  It had become second nature to him, a ship being his natural habitat for over two decades now, but a deep ache in his knee informed him each time he shifted his weight.  He resisted the urge to reach down and rub at the tighter bandage that Ana-Maria had tied around the injury as she helped him change into clothes that didn't drip blood all over the deck of his ship.

She was right about his crew, of course.  He had chosen carefully this time.  It might take a couple hard knocks to teach him a lesson, but once he learned it, he learned it well.  He supposed Barbosa's treachery had just made him overly cautious.

It had been rather thrilling, to see the looks of concern and respect that they had sent his way when he was forced to let Will and Ana-Maria help him from the boat onto his ship.  It had been even more thrilling to see that they still obeyed his orders despite the fact that he could feel his entire body trembling with the strain of rolling with the motion of his boat without falling flat on his face.

Jack raised the rum bottle to his mouth and took another gulp of the liquid, smiling slightly at the fire it raised in his throat on the way down.  The crew had been searching through the catacombs that made up the brotherhood's home since dawn came, and they had found some nice things, some very nice things indeed.  They had their captain and their loot and they were happy.

The pirate captain rubbed his sleeve across his face, wiping away the salt water that had sprayed up, feeling the grit of the salt that had already dried on his exposed skin and not caring too much.

The reunion between Will and Elizabeth had been largely unspoken messages passed between the two who loved each other just as deeply now as they ever had before.  Will had stood silent on one side of Jack as Elizabeth stared at him, a child's hand in each of hers.  Then, as if of accord, the two had moved towards each other and met in an embrace that was slightly hampered by a young boy who wished to hug his father just as much as his mother did.

It had only been the girl, young Ana, who had pulled back, still unsure if the man before her was the same man that she had called father all her life or if he was the stranger that had threatened her.

Elizabeth noticed the reticence of the child before half a minute had passed.  "Ana, come say hello to your father.  Come hug Papa."

The girl had looked at Will with eyes that were too bright and too old for her short life, her head tilted to one side as if deciding what to do.

Will had knelt on the deck, bending forward so that his line of sight intersected the child's and holding out his arms.  "Ana . . .I'm sorry if I frightened you . . .forgive me . . .please come see me?"

The child had waited a moment more before launching herself into her father's arms.  The Turner family had disappeared below deck minutes afterward as Jack's crew lowered the boats and prepared to go see what pickings were to be had.  Limping badly, Jack had made his own way to his cabin, where he sat down on the bed, fighting the urge to merely lie down and sleep.

That was were Ana-Maria had found him the first time, and, after cursing him for being pig-headed, stubborn, and stupid, she had stripped him, re-bandaged his arm and leg, and helped him into clothes that weren't soaked through with his own blood.

Jack had been surprised to find that he wasn't embarrassed or upset that she had seen him that weak and helpless.  Perhaps it was because the woman had shown no sign of contempt, no sign of fear, no sign of anything, really, except a deep caring for his state of body and mind.

He had been rather disappointed when she had left to see to the working of his ship, her final words a plea for him to stay in his cabin and rest without doing anything stupid . . .

A plea that he had almost immediately ignored, the desire to sleep having fled as quickly as it had come.  Instead he had grabbed a bottle of rum and made his slow way up to the bow, his leg better able to hold his weight with the tighter binding and the small amount of rest.  From his vantage point he could see the ocean spreading out before him, wild, free, unbounded, his harsh and beautiful mistress . . .and he was visible to most of the crew.

Some paranoia died hard.

Moving his arm up to rub at his face again, he tilted his head so that he could see the female pirate standing behind him out of the corner of his eye.  Gibbs had stopped once to watch him for a few minutes and then went back to helping the crew.  A few others, mostly the older crew from five years ago, had paused to stare, quickly and quietly moving on before they could arouse his wrath.

The female pirate, though, had stood there for at least a quarter of an hour now and showed no signs of moving on.  Twice she had seemed on the verge of coming to speak to him, but both times she had backed down before coming close enough to voice whatever was on her mind.

Jack continued to stare at the ocean, refusing to feel guilty about being on deck on his own ship.  He was the captain; he would go where and when he wanted.

The pirate captain grabbed at the railing when his leg buckled, cursing softly as the bottle of rum fell overboard, attempting not to draw too much attention to himself.  The sight seemed to finally decide Ana-Maria, as she moved forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What are ye doing, Jack Sparrow?"

"Captain, love, and what does it appear that I'm doin'?"

"Standing and gazing at an ocean when ye've got friend's who are worried and lookin' for ye."

Jack looked up at her sharply.

"Will went to find you in your cabin."

"It doesn't take that long to get from my cabin to here . . ."  Jack restrained himself from adding 'for most people'.  "He could have asked one of the crew."

Ana-Maria turned her own gaze out to sea, leaning her arms against the railing just as Jack was.  "He thought maybe you were avoiding him, Jack, and considering how small a ship is, he didn't want to push the point."  She paused for a moment.  "_Are_ you avoiding him?"

Jack looked up in true surprise.  "Why would I do that?"

"He _did_ kill you."

"He brought me back, he carried me out of there . . .it would have been easy for him to just walk away once he was free, run and see if he could catch the _Pearl_, forget about a dead pirate, but he didn't.  He's a good man.  I trust him.  I knew that he wouldn't kill me . . .not on purpose."

Ana-Maria glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  "That's a tall compliment, coming from you.  I'm not the one who needs to here it, though."

Jack grinned.  "I thought that he and Elizabeth would have been . . .getting reacquainted by now."

"That's rather hard to do with two five-year-olds in the cabin, Jack.  I think that's part of why Will was looking for you."

The grin faded.  "Ah, a child-watcher that can't move as quickly as the children."

The female pirate turned so that she was fully facing her captain.  "Jack, is that what's bothering you?  You'll heal, Jack.  I've seen deeper injuries that don't cause any permanent problems."

"And I've seen scratches that can cripple a man if the fever gets into them.  Even if it does heal, how long until I start feeling it every time a storm starts blowing?  How long before I can't move in the morning because it stiffens up?"

"Jack . . ."  Ana-Maria grabbed him by both shoulders, forcing him to face her.  "What the hell are you talking about?  You sound like Jacob did, not like Captain Jack Sparrow.  You'll heal and you'll be fine, Jack.  Have faith in yourself."

Jack laughed, not his usual charming, humor-filled laugh, but a hollow, mirthless sound that frightened the female pirate.  "Jacob was right, love.  We were much younger . . .so, so much younger."

"Gibbs is older than you, and he still pulls his share of the weight."

  
"Aye, love, he tries, but you know as well as I that he'll either be takin' on a permanent shore address soon or die in a raid.  He's not all that much older than me, either, love.  Over two decades I've been in this business . . .it takes a toll."

"Jack, you listen to me.  I could have kept the _Pearl_.  I could have kept her, but I didn't.  I brought her back to you, and I handed her over, and I never regretted it.  She's taken some heavy battering through the years, but you always put her back together, and I think she's stronger now than she's ever been before.  Maybe it's time you took the time to put her captain back together."  Jack stared at Ana-Maria, his eyes dark and empty between the kohl that permanently surrounded them.  "Jack . . .trust me."

Jack dropped his gaze, his eyes narrowing.  "He _killed_ me.  I was _dead _. . .not undead, _dead_, gone, not there, not here, not _me_.  I try to remember, but all I see are flashes, glimpses, and I feel the cold and the emptiness and I hear . . .things . . .again . . ."  The pirate closed his eyes, his body trembling again as the volume of his voice dropped with each word.  "And I can't change anything or _do_ anything . . .and it frightens me."

Jack opened his eyes in surprise as the female pirate wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into an embrace.

"Oh God, Jack, I'm so sorry.  I didn't think about where you might have been . . .what you might have seen . . .I'm so sorry."

"It's all right, love.  I'm not the one you should worry about here.  Will's the one that was possessed, remember?"

"Will's got his own counselor, Jack.  Now, if you're up to it, let's go see if we can take Jack and Ana off their hands so that she can have a private session with him?"

Jack nodded, a grin back on his face, and pulled himself free of the embrace, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see if any crewmen might have noticed, but none seemed to be remotely interested in him at the moment.  Walking by his side, Ana-Maria began listing off things that had been taken from the raider's ship and home and brought aboard as she matched her stride to Jack's limping ones.  The pirate captain listened with half his mind, filing the data away for later use, the other half intent on how, exactly, he was going to cope with _two_ demons in the rigging when he could barely walk, let alone climb.

End Notes:

This might be a few chapters longer than I meant it to be, considering this one was not in the original plans.  Oh well.  Never kick a muse for working.  Either way, this fic is still nearing an end.  Before it does, however, I will try to make it slightly clearer why, exactly, Jack is alive, as that has been a very common review question.

By the curse/blessing, family was off limits to other members of the brotherhood.  By that rule, only Will had the right to kill Jack.  When Daniel shoved Jack forward, he violated that rule.  However, Daniel didn't think he had, because Daniel, as a pirate, knew that Jack Sparrow had no blood family.  Not all family is blood, though, so Will was able to break free of the brotherhood using Jack's death as a loophole.  The gods then undid the blessing on the brotherhood, but they healed Will, as he was an innocent that had broken free.  Jack was also an innocent whose life was unfairly cut short because he was family to Will and not Daniel, so Daniel had no right to cause his death, so they healed him as well, it just took a bit longer because he wasn't directly connected to them through one of the blades like Will was but rather through his friendship/family tie to Will.  Then Will and Jack are both alive and everyone's happy, right?  Right?

I don't think that really cleared anything up, but I tried.


	17. Chapter 17: New Beginnings

Disclaimer:  I don't own them, as slavery has been outlawed, at least in this country, for almost 150 years now.

AN:  Sorry this update has taken so long.  Thanks to reviewers and plot nugget tossers.  My muses are currently forming the basis of a story that would definitely end this 'Pirates' universe, at least for me, meaning that I'd either have to change genres or write stories that are outside these story arcs or that happen within them.  At least the muses are working, though, so I won't complain too strenuously.

AN2:  This is the last chapter.  Sorry to bother you guys, but I'd like to request the same thing as last time—most liked/least liked parts, confusing parts, inaccurate or contradictory parts, any other comments about the work as a whole.  Thanks to those who have reviewed and those who will.

**Trust Me Still  
Part 17**

Jack tilted his head, contemplating the pirate and the children passed out together on _his_ bed.  Gibbs lay in a semi-reclining position with Ana on one side of him and young Jack on the other, forming an effective barricade to any hopes he had of being able to maneuver enough space to sleep on the bed himself.  Given the fact that Ana-Maria was currently asleep in his chair, that left him with few options.

The pirate captain stared around the cabin, wondering if he should find a blanket to throw over the children and deciding that it was unnecessary.  The night was warm.  They would be fine.

Jack quietly slipped out of his cabin, careful not to wake anyone.  It had been a while since he had been able to drink all his companions under the table—not that two five-year-olds were all that much competition, and the other two pirates had been exhausted at the outset.

In fact, Jack wasn't even all that drunk yet, though what he had drunk was enough to dull the pain in his arm and leg to the point where he could barely feel it at all, though he knew from the way the world was lurching that he was still limping badly.

The pirate captain made his slow and careful way over to the helm of the ship, unmanned as they still rode at anchor, the island of the brotherhood still off to starboard.  They would be leaving tomorrow, but Jack knew that his crew needed the respite, and it wasn't as if anyone was going to be chasing them out here.

The pirate tilted his head back and stared at the stars, his left hand rising and automatically beginning to trace the constellations that were a sailor's only friend if he lost his compass.

"Jack?"  The pirate captain attempted not to jump in surprise, his knee sending a twinge of real pain shooting through his leg despite the analgesic effects of the rum as he suddenly contracted the muscles.

"Hello, Will.  I'm surprised to see you.  I thought you'd be with Elizabeth still."

"She's sleeping.  I went to your cabin to check on my children.  What exactly did you do to them . . .and what did they do Gibbs and Ana-Maria?"

"My unfortunate comrades were forced to chase your children all over this ship while you and your wife were having your private counseling session which, you might note, lasted for nearly eight hours.  When they were on the verge of asking your son to walk the plank, we took them to my cabin, strapped them down, fed them, and introduced them to one of the best liquids known to man."

"Jack, you got my children drunk?  You gave them your rum?"

"Yes, and might I add that it worked splendidly as a sedative, though it seems to have robbed me of my drinking companions as well as putting your demons to bed."

"Elizabeth is going to kill you when she finds out."

Jack frowned.  "Who's going to tell her?"

"Won't they be sick tomorrow?"

"I didn't let them have that much, Will.  They should be fine.  I'm sure your son will be tearing apart my ship again before the day is half gone.  I can't help but wonder, though, why if ye went to see your children you seem to have taken a wrong turn and wound up on deck."

"Everyone else was in your cabin but you.  I wanted to make sure that you were okay."

"I'm fine, Will.  I survived well over a decade of piracy before I even met ye.  You don't need to worry about watching me."

"I know.  I just wanted to . . .apologize, to make sure that you weren't angry."

"Why would I be angry, Will Turner?"

"The fact that I shoved a sword into your chest comes to mind rather quickly."

"That wasn't you, Will.  Stop worrying about it."

"It's hard, Jack.  I keep expecting to feel Nerla invading my mind again, telling me to do something that I don't want to do."

"You won that battle.  You'll start forgetting what it feels like soon enough.  Trust me on that one."

A comfortable silence reigned between the two men.

"Jack . . .what was it like?"

The pirate looked over at him sharply, his dark eyes glittering in the reflected moonlight and starlight.  "What was what like?"

"You know . . .being dead.  Was it what you expected?"

"I didn't expect anything, so I couldn't tell you."

"You've never thought about what's after all this?  About heaven and hell and . . .everything?"

"Death isn't exactly a favorite conversation topic among pirates.  We're all survivors, Will.  We live as long as we can, we gain as much as we can, get all we can out of life, and then we die, most likely violently.  Once we're dead, it's more than likely that our bodies will either feed the crows from the noose or the fish from Davy Jones locker.  If I believe your preacher's, then I'm damned to some hell for my actions.  If I believe the Hindu priests, then I'm likely to come back as a snake or a worm or some other creature like that.  As to what I believe, I don't really know or care.  It's now that matters."

"For someone who's never thought about it, you seem to have a lot of opinions stored away.  Jack, you've been dead twice now, almost dead at least one more time that I know about.  You must have some idea of what comes after."

"I died when Barbosa stabbed me, yes, but it wasn't a real death, Will.  Almost-dead just gives you a lovely chance to relive the most unpleasant parts of your life and fight your demons."

Will waited for more, but the pirate captain had turned away.  "Jack . . .did you see anything this time?  Is there even anything after life?"

"You gave up immortality, Will, so you must think that there is."

"I didn't ever want immortality, not at the cost of my family, and that doesn't answer my question."

Jack turned back to him, and Will fought the urge to look away as pain flickered across the pirate's face and his left leg nearly buckled under him.

"At least you've got the sequence right now."

Will shook his head in confusion.  "What sequence?"

"Drink first, deep talks later."

"I'm not drunk."

"Well, I am, and the fact that you're not is not my fault."

"Jack . . ."

The pirate locked eyes with the blacksmith and moved forward, invading his personal space as he tilted his head from one side to the other.  Will didn't move; he was used to Jack's habit of moving closer to people than normal European custom would allow.

The pirate abruptly limped backwards and turned away, gazing towards the ocean.  "There's something after all this."

"What?"

Jack glanced back at him again.  "I don't remember, lad.  You'll find out for yourself eventually.  Just try to make it later rather than sooner, all right?"

"All right, Jack."    
  


"So what am I?"

"What do you mean?  You're a pirate.  A good pirate, and a good man, something I never thought I'd see."

"You claimed me as family.  What am I?"

Will turned away, and even in the dim light Jack could tell that he was blushing.

"What, lad?  It can't be that difficult to tell me."

"This from the man who always wants to be drunk before having a serious conversation."

"It's not my fault you've had nothing to drink."  Will shifted uncomfortably for a few minutes.  "Ye don't have to tell me.  I was just curious."

"It's all right."  Will took a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet the pirate's gaze.  "Sometimes, and I hate to admit it but usually when you're at least slightly drunk, and you're handing out advice and telling me about the world, I could almost believe that I have a father still.  At other times, when you're being stubborn or obnoxious or when I hear about your exploits from sailors, it's like you're another one of my children.  Most of the time, though, you're like an older brother.  You protect, you care, and you guide, but you don't judge me, and you stand by me no matter what's happening or happened."

Jack was silent.

"I'm sorry if I upset you.  You're the one who wanted to know, Jack."

"I know, lad.  While I suppose I should take exception to being thought of as a child, I was just thinking that it's you who should judge me and doesn't, you who protect me . . .or try to, lad."

"I betrayed you.  I believed that you were responsible at Jade.  You didn't betray me, though.  You believed in me even when I was trying to _kill_ you, Jack."

"You're an honorable and an honest man, Will Turner.  I knew that if anything was left of the man I've known for eight years, you wouldn't kill me.  I'm a pirate, though.  I kill for a living, even if I take fewer lives than most of the brethren.  The fact that you think of me as family at all is amazing."

"It's not amazing, Jack.  You've earned your place time and time again.  If letting someone kill you doesn't prove loyalty, nothing can."

Silence descended again, broken by the pirate as he limped towards the port railing, Will trailing behind.

"Have you thought about where you want to go?  You're always welcome aboard the _Pearl_, but I somehow doubt that's what you want."

Will stared at the deck of the ship.  "It's nothing against you, Jack.  I just can't raise my children as pirates."

"I understand.  Where are you going to go?"

"Brian Lanebridges was stationed at Johnson last year.  I was thinking about seeing if I can find work there.  It isn't much of a connection, but it's the best I have at the moment."

Jack looked up in surprise.  "Brian wasn't at Port Royal?"

"No.  He wanted to prove that he could make it on his own, that he wasn't just doing well because he was the Commodore's pet, as some of the less scrupulous people were saying.  So he requested a transfer, and Norrington allowed him to leave.  We hear from him every once in a while.  I thought I told you last time you visited."

"You might have and I just forgot.  It's good to hear that he's alive and well.  I still owe him for trying to help me."

"He doesn't think so.  He's proud of what he did, and he'll tell anyone who asks that he's proud of it.  He's even proud of the scars.  He's a strong young man."

"Yes, he is."  Silence reigned for a few moments.  "If you want to go to Johnson, I'll see you get there.  Good enough?"

"Good enough, Jack.  Do you want me to take the children?"

"No.  They're sleeping.  Let them rest."

"Where will you sleep?"

"Somewhere.  Go back to your wife, Will.  She'll be worried about you."

Will turned to go, pausing before he descended below decks to glance again at the pirate.  "Thank you, Jack.  For understanding."

Jack grinned at the young man, the expression fading as the sound of footsteps drew away.  He turned his attention back to the stars and the ocean.

"That was kind of you, Jack."

The pirate captain grinned.  "I thought you were sleeping, love."

"I was.  You can't expect me to sleep through you leaving and someone else entering and exiting your cabin.  I haven't had that much to drink yet, though it was tempting after dealing with those monsters all afternoon."

"I think the boy would be upset to hear you say that."

"He just said that he wasn't a demon.  That leaves many other options for what he is—and his sister, too."

"She's just following his lead at the moment.  She doesn't want to get separated again."

"Hmm.  That _was_ kind of you, Jack."

"What?  To promise to drop him at Johnson?"

"That's kind, too, considering pirates aren't exactly welcomed there, but I was thinking more along the lines of telling him he's forgiven and you can't remember anything."

"I can't remember anything that I could explain to him.  It's just a stretching of the truth."

"You're the strangest pirate I've ever known, Jack."

"Really, love?"

"Really.  You can be bloodthirsty and treasure-hungry just like the rest of us one minute and gentle and nearly honor-bound the next."

"Honor?  What would a pirate captain know about that?"

"Maybe not so much honor, then, as friendship."

"Kind of you to say that, love, but I don't think—"

"No, Jack, you don't think.  You act and you react, but you don't think about why.  That's part of your charm."

"Why do you keep coming back for me, love?  You could have had the _Pearl_ by now, could be a captain in your own right again.  Why stay here and keep track of a bloody crazy pirate captain?"

"Maybe because I respect the bloody crazy man.  Maybe because I'm proud to think of him as my captain and my friend."

"And I'm proud to think of ye as a friend, love.  Thank you for staying . . .for coming back for me."  Jack pulled the woman into a hug, conscious that this was the first time he had ever initiated the rare form of contact between them.

Ana-Maria was a fellow pirate, not just a fellow pirate, but a fellow captain . . .or she would have been if Jack hadn't sunk her boat and taken her on board the _Pearl_ as one of his crew.  She was a friend.  She was one of his crew.  Those facts had combined somehow in his mind to create a taboo that put her beyond his usual advances.  He wouldn't jeopardize a friendship, and he wouldn't embarrass her, not just for a night's worth of pleasure.

She returned his embrace willingly, though, even leaning into it a bit, pressing her body against his, careful not to put more pressure on his injured leg.

Jack tilted her head towards him, moving his mouth towards hers, barely breathing as he waited for a reaction.

Her finger intercepted his mouth scarcely an inch from hers.

"Slowly, Jack Sparrow.  I still want a home on the _Pearl_ no matter what happens between us."

"You'll always have one, love.  Besides, we can't do very much more unless one of us evicts all the current occupants of our respective cabins."

"You don't think it would further your reputation to be found having fun on deck with your first mate?"

"I still want a home on the _Pearl_ no matter what happens between us, love, and I don't believe finding a whole new crew would be very fun.  It's going to be hard enough to manage with them all hearing the boy call me 'Uncle Jacky' all day."

"You forgot to mention that point to Will."

"I'll get around to it.  Eavesdropping on your captain isn't very nice, you know."

"I'm a pirate, Jack.  Don't tell me you never eavesdrop on other people."

"I try not to announce the fact that I've done it."

"Does it matter?"

"Not really."

Jack attempted to tighten his embrace but the female pirate pulled back and stepped out of his arms.  "You should find someplace to sleep, Jack.  You need to rest your leg before you succeed in making yourself permanently lame."

"Who says I need to sleep?"

"Just about everyone I know says that sleep is a necessity, Jack."

"If most of the people you know are the same people I know, I wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them, which isn't very far at the moment."

"You still need to sleep, Jack, if you want to captain your ship without getting us hopelessly lost or trapped by the British navy."

"I was going to sleep on deck, considering my cabin seems a bit full."

"Not very comfortable, Jack."

"We've both slept in far worse places.  Besides, it's rather relaxing."

"Good.  I'll go reclaim your chair, then."

Jack watched her leave before limping back to the bow of the ship and gazing at the stars again, wishing he had thought to bring some rum with him when he left his cabin.

"I thought you were going to sleep."

Jack didn't jump at all before turning around to face the female pirate, who held two thin blankets in her hand.  "I thought the same about you."

"I had this strange suspicion that you were lying to me.  If I stay here and promise to wake you if you start dreaming, will you sleep?"

"You need to sleep, too."

"I've already slept, at least more than you, and I'm not injured."

"Not good enough.  Can't have both the captain and the first mate falling apart, though I daresay Will and Elizabeth could keep the ship at least afloat if not crewed."

Ana-Maria sighed in exasperation.  "What do you want me to do, Jack, sleep with you?"

The pirate captain stared at her, his dark eyes large and hopeful inside their kohl lining.

The female pirate stared at him in shock for a moment.  Then she burst out laughing.  "Jack . . "

Jack grinned back at her before limping forward, his arms outstretched to grab the blankets.  "I know, I know . . .you love me, just not—"

Whatever else he was planning on saying was cut short by a quick whimper and a curse as his left leg again attempted to buckle under him.  Ana-Maria grabbed him by the shoulder to keep him upright, earning another hiss of pain when her hand landed on the gash in his shoulder.

"I'll stay with you, Jack.  Just don't get any ideas about trying anything yet, okay?  I can still slap you so hard across the face you'll think that Armageddon has come.  Remember that you've at least got to have a cabin before it goes any further."  Jack nodded his understanding, a small grin on his face.

Ana-Maria quickly spread one of the blankets on the deck, placing the other one so that it formed a pillow.  "Down, Jack."

The pirate captain gingerly lowered himself down to the deck.  "I'm not a dog, you know."

"If you respond . . ."

"Not funny."

The female pirate settled herself on the deck, leaving about a half a foot between her body and her captain's.  "Go to sleep, Jack.  I'll be here if you need me."

The pirate was asleep within minutes, exhaustion quickly claiming him once he stopped fighting.

Ana-Maria moved closer, staring at his face in the light of the moon.  He seemed so different when he slept, so much younger and so much older at the same time, with none of his usual antics to shield him.

The female pirate faded in and out of consciousness, waiting for the stirring that would tell her Jack had lost himself in a new nightmare, this one born not from a kill he had made but from his own death.  She wasn't disappointed.

It was the mumbling that brought her back to full consciousness, words that she supposed she could have deciphered if she truly wished to.  Jack had done his best to curl his body into a protective ball, the action hampered but not halted by his injuries.

Ana-Maria spoke softly, hoping to break whatever chain of thought was driving the dream without actually waking the sleeping man.  "Jack . . ."

No reaction was obvious.

Slowly the female pirate reached out to wrap a free arm around Jack's chest, gently and slowly clasping his hand.  Pirates that were suddenly woken by physical contact had a tendency to be dangerous, and she'd rather not have to explain any injuries away.

"Jack, it's all right . . .Jack, you're safe now . . ."

Slowly the man quieted, his hand remaining locked on hers in a firm grip.  Ana-Maria considered removing her hand and decided against it, instead settling down closer to Jack.

If things were truly to change between them, now was as good a time as ever to start.

She had once told Will that she loved Jack as a captain and a friend, and asked him, to the boy's dismay, if he thought that loving Jack as a man would wreck the magic of the others.

Ana-Maria sincerely hoped not.

They would drop the Turners at Johnson, stop by Tortuga to spend what they had earned from the Brotherhood and give Jack a chance to heal, and then go back to being full-time pirates.

As she drifted off to sleep, the heat of Jack's body rolling over her in comforting waves, a simple thought flashed through her mind.

Everyone was safe, everyone was sane, the ship was intact, and all their options were still open.  A true smile flashed across the female pirate's face before fading to a teasing flicker as consciousness abandoned her.

Life just couldn't be better.


End file.
